o 


486? 


bp  J)rlen  Cboatc  prince. 


THE    STORY    OF    CHRISTINE     ROCHE- 
FORT.     i6mo,  $1.25;  paper,  50  cents. 

A  TRANSATLANTIC  CHATELAINE.    i6mo, 
$1.25. 

HOUGHTON,  MIFFLIN  &  CO. 
BOSTON  AND  NEW  YORK. 


A  TRANSATLANTIC 
CHATELAINE 


BY 


HELEN    CHOATE    PRINCE 


BOSTON  AND   NEW  YORK 
HOUGHTON,  MIFFLIN  AND   COMPANY 

^be  ffiftcrsibc  $>ics0,  Cambribge 

1897 


Copyright,  1897, 
BY  HELEN   CHOATE   PRINCE. 

All  rights  reserved. 


The  Riverside  Press,  Cambridge,  Muss.,  U.  S.  A. 
Eleetrotyped  and  Printed  by  H.  O.  Houghton  and  Company. 


A   TRANSATLANTIC   CHATELAINE. 


CHAPTER  I. 

SOME  people  are  so  persistently  and  consist 
ently  followed  by  misfortune  that  it  is  difficult 
for  the  most  tender-hearted  to  restrain  an  ex 
pression  of  annoyance  at  each  new  blow  given 
to  the  unlucky  one.  It  is  hard  to  believe  that 
the  victim  has  not  himself  to  thank  sometimes 
for  his  reverses.  To  this  class  of  unfortunates 
belonged  Gilbert  Edwards.  Born  in  the  early 
twenties  of  this  century,  the  traditional  golden 
spoon  shone  in  his  mouth  during  his  youth. 
His  parents  were  of  a  solid,  wealthy,  Boston  fam 
ily,  drawing  their  ample  means  from  the  East 
India  trade.  He  was  an  only  child,  gifted  with 
beauty  of  person  and  brilliancy  of  intellect. 

Great  things  were  prophesied  of  him  when  he 
went  to  Harvard  College,  and  yet  he  graduated 
low  in  his  class,  outrun  by  many  a  tortoise  whom 
he  had  scorned.  His  admirers  (he  had  hun 
dreds)  darkly  hinted  at  jealousy  of  his  une- 
qualed  genius  which  had  influenced  his  judges; 


2137781 


L>  .-!    TRANSATLANTIC    CHATELAINE. 

his  friend  (he  had  but  one  deserving  the  name, 
Richard  Hunting-ton)  bluntly  stated  that  Gil 
bert  was  lazy. 

He  felt  himself  too  much  above  the  common 
herd  to  trouble  his  mind  as  to  which  was  the 
correct  view,  and  announced  to  his  admiring 
and  compassionating  father  and  mother,  soon 
after  his  graduation,  that  his  ambition  was  to 
be  an  artist,  and  to  attain  this  end  he  intended 
studying  art  in  Paris.  His  decision  was  reluct 
antly  agreed  to,  and  before  he  left  his  home  he 
fell  in  love  with  and  married  a  young  woman, 
an  orphan,  the  child  of  a  clergyman  who  had 
left  her  penniless. 

The  passion  felt  by  Gilbert  for  his  young, 
beautiful  wife  was  an  absorbing  one.  He  took 
her  to  France,  where  they  lived  an  enchanted  life. 
It  was  in  that  country  that  their  little  girl  Syl 
via,  their  only  child  and  our  heroine,  was  born. 
Her  baby  eyes  opened  on  a  landscape  that  Corot 
might  have  loved,  and  perhaps  saw,  as  the  great 
artist  did,  wreaths  of  shadowy  dancers  where 
the  others,  with  world-worn  senses,  saw  but  the 
mist  rising  from  the  river. 

To  the  young  parents,  caring  only  for  each 
other,  the  baby  was  somewhat  of  an  interrup 
tion,  and  they  were  eased  of  a  burden  of  respon 
sibility  by  their  country  doctor,  who  brought 
them  as  a  nurse  a  French  woman,  of  good 


.1    TRANSATLANTIC    CHATELAINE.  6 

farmer  stock,  whose  mind  had  been  almost  un 
hinged  by  the  losses  of  husband  and  child  fol 
lowing  close  on  each  other.  She  came  with  a 
stolid  indifference  to  nurse  the  little  stranger, 
but  gradually  her  apathy  departed.  At  first 
she  imagined,  then  she  grew  to  believe,  that  the 
soul  of  her  own  baby  had  entered  into  the  small, 
warm  body  that  she  held  to  her  breast,  and  her 
solemn,  cavernous  eyes  became  bright  once  more 
with  the  light  of  devotion. 

Mr.  and  Mrs.  Edwards  saw  her  love  for  Syl 
via  with  a  selfish  gratitude,  and  devoted  them 
selves  more  than  ever  to  each  other.  Then 
from  the  cloudless  blue  of  their  skies  fell  the 
shadow  of  Death's  hand  as  he  beckoned  the  wife 
to  follow  him,  and  out  of  that  shadow  Gilbert 
Edwards  never  came  into  the  sunshine  again. 

Sylvia  was  six  at  the  time  of  her  mother's 
death,  and  felt  her  loss  but  lightly.  If  her  faith 
ful  Justine  had  not  made  the  sacrifice  of  leaving 
home  and  fatherland  to  follow  her  darling,  it 
would  have  been  a  far  more  grievous  sorrow  to 
the  child ;  for  Gilbert,  crushed  and  helpless  in 
his  grief,  turned  his  face  homewards  for  com 
fort,  but  found  none.  His  mother  had  died  a 
short  time  before  his  wife's  last  illness  ;  he  ex 
pected  to  find  his  father  in  great  sorrow,  but 
was  not  prepared  for  his  loss  of  mind,  which 
blow  fell  heavy  on  him. 


4  A    TRANSATLANTIC    CHATELAINE. 

Added  to  these  misfortunes  his  friend  Ilun- 
tington  met  him  with  the  news  of  yet  another. 
Old  Mr.  Edwards  had  been  ruined  by  a  dishon 
est  partner,  and  his  fortune  reduced  from  its 
former  generous  proportions  to  a  small  sum, 
which  Huntington,  himself  a  successful  business 
man,  had  been  able  to  rescue  from  the  wreck, 
and  invest  prudently.  He  agreed  promptly  to 
Gilbert's  request  that  he  keep  the  management 
of  this  sum  in  his  own  hands. 

The  town  house  had  been  sold,  but  an  old- 
fashioned  country  house  was  still  theirs,  and 
here  Sylvia  was  taken  on  her  arrival  in  the  new 
world.  Her  grandfather  died  soon  after,  and 
her  first  recollections  were  of  a  brisk,  sharp- 
tongued,  sharp-nosed  woman,  with  red  corkscrew 
curls,  called  Deborah  ;  of  Richard  Huntington's 
regular  Saturday  to  Monday  visits,  and  of  a 
brook  that  ran  through  the  place. 

This  impudent,  romping  little  stream  was  her 
only  playmate  ;  it  was  a  relief  to  escape  from 
the  hushed  house,  where  papa  was  always  writ 
ing,  and  dabble  in  its  clear  waters.  There  was 
something  remarkable  about  it,  that  made  it 
unlike  other  places,  and  to  Sylvia  it  was  the 
home  of  a  fairy,  a  being  of  many  moods,  who 
sometimes  laughed  as  the  miniature  cascades 
chased  each  other  over  the  pebbles,  and  who 
sometimes  told  endless  stories  in  a  murmuring 


A    TRANSATLANTIC    CHATELAINE.  5 

* 

flow  of  elfin  words  ;  and  there  were  rare  mo 
ments  when  she  jeered  and  mocked  the  little 
maid,  filling  her  with  an  elusive  terror,  only  to 
be  banished  by  feeling  Justine's  kind  arms  about 
her. 

Presently,  after  the  first  acute  anguish  of  his 
grief  had  been  somewhat  dulled,  Gilbert  became 
interested  in  renewing  his  intercourse  with  the 
companions  of  early  days.  He  flung  aside  his 
brush,  for  with  his  wife  his  inspiration  had  dis 
appeared,  and  he  took  up  his  clever,  facile  pen 
in  its  place ;  before  long  his  articles  on  con 
temporary  art  drew  notice  upon  him  from  the 
literary  world.  Men  of  note  sought  him  out, 
and  Huntington  saw  with  satisfaction  that  his 
friend,  for  whom  he  cared  so  truly,  might  re 
deem  himself  yet  in  the  eyes  of  his  townspeople, 
who  had  called  his  career  up  to  that  time  by 
unflattering  names. 

But,  alas,  his  hopes  were  dashed  to  the  ground, 
for  Gilbert,  in  a  spirit  that  deserves  admiration 
rather  than  blame,  threw  himself  heart  and  soul 
into  the  abolitionist  movement,  simply  from  his 
conviction  that  it  was  the  only  course  open  to 
one  who  felt  as  he  did.  In  those  heated  days 
there  was  no  middle  course,  no  compromise ; 
the  dividing  line  was  sharply  drawn,  and  Gil 
bert's  action  cast  him  adrift  from  his  old  associ 
ates.  Sylvia  was  too  young  when  he  first  took 


6  A     TRANSATLANTIC     CHATELAINE. 

f 

this  step  to  understand  it ;  she  only  knew  that  no 
longer  men  drove  out  from  Boston  to  talk  and 
smoke  in  the  white  parlor  with  him,  —  a  room 
fast  losing  its  right  to  the  name  as  its  wainscoted 
walls  became  hidden  by  books.  She  noticed,  too, 
that  her  father  stayed  at  home  more  and  seemed 
more  melancholy,  yet  busier  than  ever  with  his 
pen.  He  had  never  called  forth  her  love  by 
any  show  of  tenderness  ;  he  was  a  vain  man,  be 
lieving  in  his  own  genius,  and  convinced  that  he 
was  the  toy  of  a  fate  which  delighted  in  frustrat 
ing  all  his  efforts.  Sylvia  was  a  burden,  some 
thing  to  be  fed  and  clothed  suitably  ;  as  for 
getting  any  pleasure  from  her  during  the  first 
ten  years  of  her  life,  that  was  something  which 
never  occurred  to  him,  and  she  grew  up  with 
much  more  warmth  in  her  heart  for  "  Uncle 
Dick,"  as  she  called  Huntington,  and  Justine 
than  for  her  father. 

About  Deborah,  her  feelings  were  doubtful ; 
she  liked  her  jams  and  plum  cake,  she  enjoyed 
the  severe  cleanliness  of  her  room,  which  was 
sometimes  made  into  a  nursery  on  rainy  after 
noons,  and  a  button-box,  filled  with  wonders  from 
bygone  days,  lent  as  a  plaything  ;  on  the  other 
hand  she  indignantly  resented  the  old  servant's 
manner  of  washing  her  face,  to  which  she  was 
sometimes  obliged  to  submit  during  a  temporary 
absence  of  Justine,  nor  did  it  reconcile  her  to 


A    TRANSATLANTIC    GHATELAINE.  7 

be  told  that  her  father  had  undergone  the  same 
indignities  in  his  youth.  But  worse  even  than 
having  her  nose  rubbed  inexorably  the  wrong 
way  and  her  eyes  filled  with  soapsuds,  was 
being  taken  every  Sunday  to  the  village  meet 
ing-house  by  the  brisk  and  "  orthodox  "  Debo 
rah.  There  was  a  double  grief  involved  in  this 
course :  first,  it  was  Uncle  Dick's  one  day  in  the 
week  with  them,  and  he  was  always  so  good  and 
kind  to  her,  bringing  a  fresh,  north-wind  sort 
of  atmosphere  into  the  silent  house ;  his  cheery 
laugh  sounding  through  the  hall,  the  very  noise 
he  made  with  his  heavy  boots  stamping  round, 
and  the  unconcerned  manner  in  which  he 
slammed  doors,  causing  the  little  girl  to  feel 
that  he  was  n't  so  very  grown-up  after  all. 

The  second  grief  caused  by  the  churchgoing 
was  a  deeper  and  farther  reaching  one  ;  the  min 
ister  was  a  good  man  and  just,  according  to  his 
lights,  but  narrow,  his  world  embracing  a  very 
small  plot  of  ground.  There  was  no  elasticity  to 
his  opinions.  He  believed  that  he  was  traveling 
Zionward  with  a  select  band  of  the  chosen,  and 
the  only  point  where  he  betrayed  any  imagina 
tion  was  the  limitless  extent  of  those  uncom 
fortable  lower  regions,  to  which  he  complacently 
consigned  more  than  ninety-nine  hundredths  of 
his  fellow  beings. 

Sylvia,  whose  silent,  companionless  life  had 


8  .1    TRANSATLANTIC    CHATELAINK. 

developed  in  her  a  faculty  for  vividly  seizing 
hold  of  ideas  generally  far  in  advance  of  her 
age,  had  to  listen  to  his  denunciations  Sunday 
after  Sunday.  Thanks  to  him  her  belief  in  the 
efficacy  of  Justine's  blue-and-white  plaster  Vir 
gin  faded  away,  also  the  dim,  deliciously  agitat 
ing  idea  of  the  naiad  in  the  brook ;  but  although 
the  well-meaning  Mr.  Andrews  drove  away  these 
fancies,  he  did  not  provide  her  with  any  affir 
mation  to  fill  up  the  space  created  by  the  nega 
tion.  The  child  swelled  with  indignation  when 
he  prayed  pointedly,  as  he  believed  it  was  his 
duty  to  do,  "  for  all  those  who  bend  the  knee 
to  images  of  wood  and  stone ;  for  all  those 
who  turn  from  the  Lord's  house  "  (this  meant 
Mr.  Andrews' s  meeting-house)  "  and  spend  the 
Sabbath  in  vain  worldliness ;  may  they  turn 
from  their  errors  before  "  —  and  then  would  fol 
low  a  description  of  the  torments  being  prepared 
for  "  papa,  Uncle  Dick,  and  Justine,"  as  Sylvia 
thought,  that  made  her  tremble  with  fury  against 
him. 

Gilbert's  active,  intellectual  life  made  him 
absent-minded  when  with  his  little  girl ;  he  had 
no  love  for  puppies  or  kittens  —  why,  then,  for 
other  undeveloped  animals  ?  She  had  felt  the 
sting  inflicted  by  an  indifferent  answer  to  some 
question  of  vital  importance  to  her,  as  only  a 
highly  strung  sensitive  child  can,  and  it  drove 


A    TRANSATLANTIC    CHATELAINE.  9 

her  into  herself,  forming  at  that  early  age  the 
habit  of  reserve  which  grew  with  her  growth. 
Huntington  was  the  one  person  to  whom  she 
spoke  freely  of  her  little  interests ;  he  was 
always  ready  to  listen  and  never  snubbed  her, 
even  when  he  could  not  quite  understand.  It 
was  to  him  that  Sylvia  owed  the  first  important 
change  in  her  monotonous  Hfe. 

One  winter  twilight,  Gilbert  having  disap 
peared  for  a  time,  the  two  friends,  the  little  girl 
and  her  dear  Uncle  Dick,  were  sitting  by  the 
fire  while  the  shadows  clustered  in  the  skeleton- 
like  elm  without,  and  the  ceiling  grew  red  and 
glowing  within.  Sylvia  had  been  chatting  about 
a  hundred  things,  but  for  a  few  moments  she 
had  been  silent,  watching  her  companion's  kind, 
strong  face  in  the  dim  light ;  he  puffed  away 
at  his  cigar,  waiting  for  more  confidences,  while 
a  gentle  melancholy  stole  over  him,  regrets  for 
something  that  had  gone  out  of  his  life  for  ever. 
Suddenly  she  spoke :  — 

"  Uncle  Dick,  do  you  think  it  very  wicked  to 
say  the  Lord's  Prayer  in  French  ?  " 

He  looked  at  her  with  a  quizzical  yet  kindly 
expression. 

"  No  ;  do  you  say  it  in  French  ?  " 

"Yes." 

"  Why  is  n't  English  good  enough  ?  " 

"  Oh,  it  is  n't  that  — listen  —  let  me  tell  you." 


10  A    TRANSATLANTIC    CHATELAINE. 

She  came  close  to  him,  and  he  felt  that  she  was 
shaking  with  nervous  excitement.  "  It  is  because 
'  for  ever  and  ever,  Amen  '  is  so  very  terrible  — 
I  have  to  hold  on  in  the  dark  to  keep  from  whizz 
ing  off.  Eternity  is  so  awful.  Do  you  think 
everything  Mr.  Andrews  says  is  true?  It  all 
frightens  me  so." 

Then  Dick  threw- his  cigar  into  the  fire,  and 
taking  Sylvia  on  his  knee  he  tried  to  tell  her  in 
halting  words  of  the  love  enfolding  the  world. 
She  listened,  gradually  calmed  and  soothed ;  the 
main  comfort  to  her  was  that  she  need  not  be 
lieve  in  the  bad  part  —  the  rest  did  not  matter 
so  much. 

That  night,  when  she  had  fallen  peacefully 
asleep,  no  "  eternity  feelings  "  having  disturbed 
her,  thanks  to  Huntington,  he  had  a  serious  talk 
about  her  with  Gilbert.  He  urged  a  good  school, 
where  she  would  be  among  other  children,  but 
her  father  would  not  hear  of  it.  Pie  argued, 
with  truth,  that  for  many  years  to  come  her  life 
must  be  apart.  "  I  am  too  well  known  now, 
Dick,  to  expect  that  my  daughter  could  meet 
with  any  decent  treatment.  I  am  obliged  to  sign 
an  assumed  name  when  I  want  payment  for  any 
article  unconnected  with  my  cause  as  it  is.  I 
am  a  marked  man,"  he  ended  with  a  sigh. 

Capricious,  intolerant,  vain  he  might  have 
been,  but  Gilbert  Edwards  had  in  him  some  of 


A    TRANSATLANTIC    CHATELAINE.  11 

the  elements  that  go  to  make  up  enthusiasts.  In 
spite  of  his  absorption  he  yet  listened  to  his 
friend's  account  of  Sylvia's  mental  state  with 
some  interest,  and  announced  his  intention  of 
forbidding  any  more  churchgoing,  and  of  taking 
her  education  into  his  own  hands.  Huntington 
shrugged  his  shoulders  a  trifle  skeptically  at  the 
thoroughness  with  which  the  new  broom  swept 
neglected  corners,  but  as  month  succeeded  month, 
year  followed  year,  and  still  father  and  daughter 
pursued  their  studies  with  eager  interest,  his  in 
credulity  gave  way  to  admiration. 

To  Sylvia,  her  lessons  were  not  unalloyed  bliss 
by  any  means  ;  she  found  in  her  father  a  severe, 
fastidious  master,  but  one  who  had  the  power  of 
arousing  ambition.  He  found  in  her  an  intelli 
gent,  in  some  ways  a  brilliant  pupil ;  he  rarely 
praised  her,  showing  approval  only  by  absence 
of  blame,  so  that  she  felt  a  glow  of  pride  if  she 
escaped  during  the  lesson-hour  one  of  his  sarcas 
tic  sneers,  —  barbed  words  bearing  more  poison 
in  their  points  than  he  suspected,  poison  that 
stung  and  rankled  long  after  they  had  been 
spoken.  The  very  admiration  that  Sylvia  felt 
for  her  father's  intellect  added  weight  to  his 
opinion.  She  was  in  constant  fear,  not  of  him, 
but  of  what  he  might  say  to  hurt  her. 

As  she  grew  older  he  treated  her  more  as  his 
equal.  He  spoke  to  her  of  his  intense  interest  in 


12  A    TRANSATLANTIC    CHATELAINE. 

the  unpopular,  nay,  detested  cause  that  he  had 
espoused;  and  she,  with  the  mantle  of  reserve 
folded  about  her  from  long  habit,  answered 
suitably  and  intelligently  to  his  eloquent  bursts. 
But  he  never  dreamed  that  the  self-contained 
little  maiden  often  left  him  trembling  with 
agony  at  the  horror  his  words  had  called  up  to 
her,  and  spent  hours  of  vain  imaginings  of  what 
she  fain  would  do. 

Even  Huntington  did  not  suspect  the  intensity 
of  her  feelings  on  this  subject,  for  she  was  often 
a  silent  listener  during  long  discussions  between 
him  and  her  father,  and  she  knew  that  with  all 
his  humanity,  Uncle  Dick  was  not  one  of  them. 
She  noticed,  too,  that  her  father  met  with  scanty 
respect  from  the  villagers,  who  did  not  favor  the 
abolition  movement  in  the  beginning.  Gilbert's 
tactless  enthusiasm  drove  them  to  a  scarcely- 
veiled  hostility  towards  him  and  the  cause.  As 
the  struggle  grew  fiercer  between  the  various 
political  factions,  certain  tradesmen  refused  to 
fill  his  simple  orders.  Gilbert  was  secretly 
proud  of  this  feeble  attempt  to  persecute  him, 
but  Sylvia  quivered  with  indignation. 

If  we  except  an  occasional  call  from  good  Mr. 
Andrews,  who  kept  up  a  friendship  for  the  son 
which  he  had  formerly  felt  for  the  father,  Hunt 
ington  was  now  their  sole  link  with  the  outside 
world.  Although  his  sisters  saw  with  much 


A     TRANSATLANTIC    CHATELAINE.  13 

loudly  expressed  concern  his  intimacy  with  a 
man  whom  they  characterized  as  an  "  atheist,  a 
Bohemian,  and  very  French  in  his  views,"  he  con 
tinued  to  feel  the  same  warm,  loyal  admiration 
for  his  friend,  and  he  never  missed  his  Sunday 
visit  until  Sylvia  was  nearly  sixteen  ;  then  some 
important  business  called  him  to  England. 

Before  going  he  handed  over  to  Gilbert  his 
own  property,  which  had  grown  to  fairly  com 
fortable  proportions  during  his  stewardship,  ad 
vising  him  to  alter  none  of  the  existing  arrange 
ments. 

Sylvia  hardly  knew  what  a  satisfying  element 
dear  Uncle  Dick  had  been  in  her  life  until  the 
ocean  rolled  between  them,  and  there  was  no 
thing  to  mark  the  passing  of  the  weeks,  no  sound 
of  rapid  hoofs  on  the  turnpike-road  to  listen  for, 
no  interesting  little  package  to  open,  no  cosy 
twilight  confidences.  Like  a  child  waiting  for 
the  holidays  she  kept  a  calendar  in  her  room, 
and  each  morning  marked  off  a  day.  During 
his  friend's  absence  Gilbert  went  often  to  Bos 
ton,  pleading  business  as  an  excuse ;  he  fre 
quently  stayed  for  three  or  four  days  at  a  time, 
leaving  Sylvia  to  wander  at  will  among  his 
books,  a  method  fraught  with  some  danger  for 
a  young  girl. 

The  hours  dragged  heavily,  but  all  things 
come  to  an  end  at  last,  even  that  dark  solitary 


14  A    TRANSATLANTIC   CHATELAINE. 

winter  of  '60  and  '61 ;  and  the  March  winds  blew 
Huntington  back  to  a  land  seething  and  writh 
ing  with  internal  strife.  The  Sundays  were 
taken  up  with  long,  excited  talks  between  the 
two  men,  Richard  still  holding  his  more  con 
servative  ground,  and  refusing  to  believe  in  the 
shameful  rumors  of  those  agitating  times. 

Sylvia  listened,  her  heart  beating  and  her  eyes 
glowing,  but  all  her  feelings  hidden  as  she  sat  in 
her  corner,  her  hands  quietly  folded  in  her  lap. 
Beneath  this  cool  exterior,  however,  ardent  and 
inspiring  thoughts  and  emotions  were  seething 
and  bubbling,  much  as  the  brown  waters  of  her 
old  playfellow  the  brook  swirled  under  the  thin 
films  of  ice,  still  lingering  one  April  morning  in 
the  shadow  cast  by  the  little  foot-bridge  span 
ning  the  stream.  Sylvia  stood  looking  down  at 
it  in  the  clear  sunshine ;  it  was  swollen  by  the 
melted  snows  and  rushed  on  with  mimic  fury. 

"  I  used  to  be  afraid  of  the  brook  when  I  was 
little,"  she  said  to  herself  :  "  I  thought  that  a 
fairy  lived  there  who  laughed  at  me  sometimes. 
I  wonder  if  I  did  hear  anything  then  I  've  lost 
the  sound  of  now  ?  " 

She  walked  slowly  back  to  the  house,  stoop 
ing  now  and  then  to  pick  a  golden  crocus  for 
the  breakfast-table.  Her  slender  figure  was  as 
straight  as  a  river-reed  ;  her  dark-brown  rippling 
hair  was  brushed  away  from  her  low,  broad  fore- 


A    TRANSATLANTIC    CHATELAINE.  15 

head,  and  fell  down  her  back  in  a  heavy  braid, 
tied  with  a  black  ribbon  ;  her  gray  woolen  dress 
was  made  with  conventual  simplicity,  only  re 
lieved  by  the  white  collar  and  cuffs  which  gave 
her  an  air  of  dainty  precision.  Her  features 
were  delicately  chiseled,  her  color  fresh,  and 
her  eyes  deep  gray,  edged  with  black  lashes  — 
but  there  are  hundreds  of  other  girls  who  might 
be  described  in  these  words,  and  yet  give  no 
idea  of  our  heroine.  The  difference  lay  in  a 
suggestion  of  latent  force,  a  reserve  that  belongs 
by  rights  to  people  double  the  child's  age,  and 
in  a  lack  of  that  careless  happiness  which  we 
connect  with  youth,  scarcely  realizing  what  a 
distinctive  feature  it  is  until  we  miss  it. 

On  this  fresh  dewy  morning  the  caws  from 
a  flock  of  crows  taking  their  heavy  way  over 
the  treetops  were  the  only  sounds  of  life  in 
the  serene  country  calm,  and  yet  at  that  very 
moment  hundreds  of  thousands  of  hearts  were 
beating  fast  with  excitement,  for  north  and 
south,  east  and  west,  flashed  the  news  that  the 
flag  had  been  fired  on. 

But  Sylvia,  all  unconscious  of  the  tumult, 
went  into  the  house  out  of  the  sunshine  to  ar 
range  her  flowers.  She  had  just  set  her  bowl  in 
the  middle  of  the  table,  when  her  father's  step 
was  heard  in  the  hall,  and  as  he  entered  the 
room,  she  glanced  through  the  window,  exclaim- 


16  A    TRANSATLANTIC    CHATELAINE. 

ing,  "  Why,  papa  !  look !  there  is  the  station- 
wagon  coming  in  by  the  upper  gate  !  Who  can 
it  be  ?  " 

Forgetful  of  her  usual  dignity,  she  ran  to  the 
window. 

"It  is  Uncle  Dick!  what  can  he  want?" 

Gilbert's  pale  face  grew  a  shade  paler. 

"  You  are  too  old  to  be  such  a  tomboy,  Sylvia," 
he  said  testily ;  "  you  are  sixteen  and  Hunting- 
ton  is  still  a  young  man.  For  God's  sake  don't 
lose  your  womanliness." 

The  slightly  disdainful  look  habitual  to  her 
crept  into  the  girl's  face,  and  she  stood  still  in 
stead  of  running  out  to  welcome  her  friend.  He 
jumped  hastily  from  the  flimsy  vehicle,  and  in 
another  moment  was  in  the  room.  There  was 
an  unfamiliar  expression  of  excitement  and  ex 
altation  on  his  manly  face,  and  some  emotion 
seemed  to  be  silencing  him,  for  he  laid  his  hand 
on  Gilbert's  shoulder,  and  stood  looking  at  him 
without  a  word.  Sylvia  thought  how  big  and 
broad  he  appeared  beside  the  slight  boyish  figure 
of  her  father,  whose  face  had  a  curious  drawn, 
shrinking  look,  as  he  fixed  his  dark,  burning 
eyes  on  Richard. 

At  last,  "Come!  "  said  Dick,  almost  with  a 
shout,  his  lips  trembling.  For  a  moment  his 
excitement  seemed  to  reach  Gilbert,  who  half 
rose,  and  stretched  out  his  hand,  while  a  wave 


A    TRANSATLANTIC    CHATELAINE.  17 

of  feeling  rushed  across  his  face  with  the  eva 
nescent  rapidity  of  lightning ;  then  with  a  groan 
he  sank  back  into  his  chair,  covering  his  eyes 
with  his  hand. 

"  I  cannot,"  he  said ;  "  God  help  me,  I  can 
not." 

"Gilbert!" 

There  was  an  incredulous  protest  in  the  ex 
clamation,  but  it  was  unanswered.  Sylvia  could 
remain  passive  no  longer. 

"  Where  do  you  want  him  to  go,  Uncle  Dick  ?  " 
she  said,  coming  forward.  Huntington  looked 
at  her  vaguely  as  if  she  had  been  a  stranger. 

"  I  don't  understand  ;  he  knew  it  was  coming, 
a  call  to  arms,  and  this  morning  the  President's 
Proclamation  is  issued.  We  have  talked  it  over 
so  often,  and  he  was  always  the  eager  one  ;  why, 
he  has  laughed  at  me,  and  said  I  was  tied  to  my 
money-bags,  and  now  he  —  I  don't  understand," 
he  reiterated  in  a  helpless  fashion. 

Gilbert  moved  impatiently. 

"  It  is  my  destiny,"  he  said,  his  voice  sound 
ing  hollow  and  muffled  under  his  hand  which 
still  covered  his  face. 

"  Destiny  be  hanged,  Gilbert,"  said  Hunting- 
ton  roughly  ;  "  this  is  no  time  for  phrase-mak 
ing.  There  are  two  hours  before  the  train  goes 
back  to  Boston,  and  let  us  have  the  glory  of 
being  among  the  first  of  old  Massachusetts'  sons 
to  enlist." 


18  A    TRANSATLANTIC    CHATELAINE. 

"  I  cannot  go ;  I  must  not  leave  Sylvia." 

"  Your  country  has  more  right  to  you  even 
than  your  child  ;  for  God's  sake  don't  disappoint 
me  in  this  ;  show  yourself  a  man  !  Throw  off 
this  shell  of  indifference  and  stand  to  your  guns ! 
Think  of  all  you  have  said  in  answer  to  my 
lukewarm  arguments  about  law  and  property. 
Property !  I  thought  I  cared  for  mine  until  I 
read  this  morning's  paper,  and  now  I  feel  it  is 
nothing,  nothing,  compared  with  my  country. 
Why,  Gilbert,"  he  added  with  a  half-embar 
rassed  laugh,  "  I  believe  I  am  crazed  with  patri 
otism,  and  you  must  catch  it  from  me." 

A  stifled  groan  was  the  only  reply.  The  glow 
of  enthusiasm  died  slowly  out  of  Richard's  face 
as  he  stood  looking  down  on  the  bowed  head, 
and  his  voice  was  cold  when  he  said,  "  Do  you 
mean  to  let  me  go  alone,  Gilbert  ?  " 

"  Yes  —  I  must.  Don't  you  —  can't  you,  un 
derstand  me  ?  I  must  stay  at  home." 

Huntingdon  was  baffled  by  the  repeated  re 
fusals  ;  he  drew  his  hand  over  his  eyes  and 
choked  down  an  angry  rejoinder  ;  he  had  con 
sidered  the  whole  matter  deeply  and  anxiously 
during  the  past  year,  and  now,  when  he  had 
buried  doubts  and  uncertainties,  and  his  heart 
leapt  responsive  to  his  country's  call,  the  friend 
on  whose  ardent  cooperation  he  had  counted 
failed  him.  That  there  was  some  grave  reason 


A    TRANSATLANTIC    CHATELAINE.  19 

underlying  and  accounting  for  Gilbert's  attitude, 
he  was  sure,  and  it  was  a  keen  disappointment 
to  him,  for  he  had  gloried  in  the  prospect  of 
seeing  his  friend's  gallant  and  chivalrous  na 
ture  bring  him  the  commanding  position  that  he 
felt  sure  he  deserved,  and  of  which  only  circum 
stances,  according  to  his  belief,  had  deprived 
him.  Not  for  a  moment  did  any  unworthy  doubt 
creep  into  his  loyal  thoughts. 

But  Sylvia,  standing  unnoticed  with  her  eyes 
flashing  scorn,  and  her  breath  coming  quick  and 
hard,  could  not  endure  the  sight  of  Richard  giv 
ing  up  the  struggle  ;  she  came  swiftly  across  the 
room  and  shook  her  father's  shoulder. 

"  Look  up,  papa  !  I  'm  only  a  girl,  but  rather 
than  sit  at  home  and  think  that  no  one  of  our 
family  is  fighting  to  defend  my  country,  /will 
follow  the  army!  I  will  be  a  nurse  for  the 
wounded !  I  will  do  my  share  and  yours  too  ! 
Let  me  go  with  Uncle  Dick  in  your  place." 

There  was  scornful  command  rather  than  en 
treaty  in  her  voice  ;  her  father  did  not  reply 
with  words,  but  raised  his  head  and  looked  at 
her  with  an  expression  of  such  haggard  suffer 
ing,  that  she  exclaimed,  "  Oh,  forgive  me  !  I  did 
not  mean  " 

"  No,  no !  you  are  both  right  in  thinking  me 
a  coward  ;  I  am  one,  but  not  in  the  way  you 
believe.  Dick,  while  you  were  in  England  I 


20  .4    TRANSATLANTIC    CHATKLMXK. 

speculated  and  lost  every  cent  of  my  money,  — 
it  was  not  for  myself,  God  knows  ;  it  was  to  help 
a  little  in  the  cause,  —  but  I  failed  as  I  do  in 
everything,  and  now  my  poor  scribblings  are  all 
that  stand  between  Sylvia  and  starvation.  Now 
you  know  why  I  must  stay  at  home." 

Huntington  felt  an  impulse  of  angry  impa 
tience,  but  Sylvia  was  overcome  by  remorse  that 
she  had  been  guilty  of  thinking  him  wanting  in 
bravery ;  she  put  her  arms  about  his  neck. 

"  Poor  papa,  never  mind  me  ;  I  can  do  very 
well  here  alone,  and  I  can  live  on  milk  and  eggs, 
which  cost  nothing.  Go,  dear  papa,  and  when 
you  come  home  a  conqueror,  I  shall  feel  I  have 
helped  you,  and  shared  a  little  in  your  suffer 
ings." 

"  You  are  a  brave  girl  ;  you  are  like  your 
mother,  Sylvia,"  he  said  gently  ;  "  but  it  cannot 
be.  I  have  sinned,  and  I  must  bear  my  punish 
ment.  '  They  also  serve  who  only  stand  and 
wait,'  you  know." 

"  No,  no  !  it  is  unjust  that  you  should  have  to 
give  up  every  chance,  only  because  you  lost  your 
money.  Uncle  Dick,  dear  Uncle  Dick,  tell  him 
how  nicely  I  can  live  on  nothing.  I  will  earn 
money  for  myself." 

But  Huntington  was  standing  at  the  window 
staring  out  into  the  sunshine,  and  did  not  an 
swer.  Gilbert  looked  at  him  with  a  wistful 


.1    TRANSATLANTIC    CHATELAINE.  21 

appeal  in  his  eyes  that  was  very  pitiful.  There 
was  a  feeling  of  suspense  in  the  silence  which 
Sylvia  dared  not  break  ;  she  gave  a  little  start 
when  llichard  turned  round  abruptly  and  strode 
across  the  room  to  her  side. 

He  took  her  hands  in  his  and  looked  deep  into 
her  eyes,  his  own  full  of  a  resolute  light. 

"  Sylvia,"  he  said,  and  his  voice  stirred  some 
chord  in  her  heart  that  vibrated  in  response  — 
"  Sylvia,  you  are  a  brave  girl,  and  I  am  going 
to  ask  you  to  make  a  great  sacrifice  for  your 
country  and  your  father.  If  you  were  a  boy  I 
should  not  hesitate  to  ask  you  to  risk  your  life, 
and  now  I  do  not  hesitate  to  ask  you  if  you  will 
give  up  all  dreams  of  a  young,  happy  marriage, 
and  take  me,  battered  old  fellow  that  I  am,  for 
your  husband." 

All  sorts  of  visions  of  personal  bravery  and 
exposure  had  floated  through  her  mind  as  he 
began  to  speak.  Her  throat  had  felt  as  if  a  hand 
clutched  at  it,  so  high  rose  her  enthusiasm,  and 
the  surprise  of  the  ending  came  like  an  anti 
climax.  To  her  mortification  she  gave  a  quick, 
nervous  laugh.  "  Why,  Uncle  Dick,  I  love  you 
dearly  ;  it  is  nothing  you  ask  me  to  do  ;  give  me 
something  hard." 

The  determined  lines  in  his  face  softened  a 
little. 

"  You  do  not  know  what  you  say,  dear.     You 


22  A    TRANSATLAXTJC    CHATELAINE. 

may  love  me  as  you  would  an  uncle  or  a  grand 
father,  and  I  love  you  as  dearly  as  if  you  were 
my  own  child ;  but  I  lost  my  heart  years  ago, 
and  you  have  never  found  yours.  No,  let  us  be 
frank ;  it  is  only  that  I  shall  be  able  to  provide 
for  you,  and  in  case  of  my  death  make  you  my 
heir  without  interference,  that  I  ask  you  to  marry 
me.  And  if  you  accept,  it  is  because  you  are 
willing  to  lay  your  youth  and  happiness  on  your 
country's  altar." 

Gilbert,  who  had  been  listening  as  one  in  a 
dream,  sprang  up. 

"  No !  no !  you  must  not  make  this  sacrifice 
for  me,  Dick !  I  am  not  worthy  of  it ;  I  will 
leave  Sylvia  to  starve  before  accepting  it." 

"  It  is  not  I  who  make  the  sacrifice,  it  is  your 
daughter.  I  gain  the  prospect  of  a  happy  home, 
and  a  wife  whom  I  love  dearly,  if  I  am  spared 
to  come  back  ;  she  loses  all  those  dreams  of  love 
which  are  sacred  to  any  one  who  has  ever  had 
them.  You  of  all  men  should  appreciate  her 
generosity." 

"  Papa  —  Uncle  Dick  —  don't  talk  in  this  way, 
please.  I  am  ready  to  thank  God  that  He  has 
given  me  a  chance  to  do  something  noble.  All 
my  life  I  have  longed  to  show  how  I  could  die 
like  Marie  Antoinette  or  Jeanne  d'Arc,  and  if 
they  asked  to  burn  me,  so  that  the  slaves  might 
be  free,  I  would  laugh  witli  joy,  and  go  to  the 


A    TRANSATLANTIC    CHATELAINE.  23 

stake  singing.  I  only  wish  there  was  something 
hard,  hard  for  me,  instead  of  marrying  my  dear 
old  Uncle  Dick." 

Gilbert  stared  at  her  in  surprise.  He  had 
never  suspected  the  enthusiastic  love  of  romance 
and  heroism  underlying  her  quiet  manner ;  but 
the  excitement  of  the  moment  stirred  her,  and 
self  was  forgotten.  The  brilliant  color  glowed 
in  her  cheeks,  her  deep  gray  eyes  seemed  full  of 
violet  fire,  and  her  slight,  willowy  figure  assumed 
an  air  of  dignity. 

"  Then  it  is  decided  ;  you  will  marry  me,  and 
at  once?"  said  Huntington. 

Sylvia  smiled  proudly  as  she  laid  her  slender 
hand  in  his.  "  Yes,"  was  all  she  said,  but  her 
voice  was  full  of  resolute  loyalty. 

"  If  I  come  back  alive  I  will  be  a  kind  hus 
band  to  you,  little  girl,  and  try  to  make  you 
forget  all  you  have  given  up.  But  time  is 
short,"  he  added,  looking  at  his  watch ;  "  we 
ought  to  be  married  at  once,  for  I  do  not  know 
when  I  shall  be  free  again." 

"  Run  upstairs,  Sylvia,  and  tell  Justine  to  put 
some  things  in  my  valise  for  me  ;  then  wait  till 
I  call  you,"  said  her  father,  suddenly  rousing  to 
energy. 

She  gave  the  bare  order  to  the  French  woman, 
neither  explaining  the  reason  of  his  departure, 
nor  telling  of  the  great  event  in  her  own  life ; 


24  A    TRANSATLANTIC    CHATELAINE. 

she  was  so  unused  to  sympathy,  so  accustomed 
to  lock  her  feelings  in  her  own  heart,  allowing 
no  one  to  pry  at  them,  that  reserve  and  silence 
had  become  a  second  nature  to  her. 

She  went  to  her  own  room  and  sat  by  the 
window  waiting.  No  nun  about  to  take  the  veil 
ever  had  her  heart  filled  with  higher,  purer 
thoughts ;  no  hint  of  self  entered  into  that  sanc 
tuary.  Sylvia  was  unconscious  that  her  attitude 
was  one  of  worship,  for  she  thought  neither  of 
the  avenging  Jehovah  of  whom  Mr.  Andrews 
thundered,  nor  of  the  blue-and-white  Virgin  in 
Justine's  room,  and  these  were  the  only  dei 
ties  she  knew ;  but  as  man  is  made  to  adore, 
her  whole  being  was  prostrate  before  the  ab 
stract  virtues  of  patriotism,  bravery,  and  self- 
sacrifice. 

She  looked  about  the  room,  eloquent  in  its 
appointments  of  Iluntington's  tender  thoughtful- 
ness  of  her,  that  had  followed  her  ever  since 
she  had  known  him.  The  engravings  on  the 
wall,  the  knickknacks  on  her  dressing-table, 
everything  she  called  hers,  had  been  given  by 
him,  except  the  few  books  in  the  hanging  shelves ; 
those  had  been  some  of  her  father's  infrequent 
gifts.  As  she  looked,  her  eye  fell  on  an  ivory 
prayer-book  —  her  mother's.  She  took  it  from 
its  place  and  turned  to  the  marriage  service. 
"  Till  death  us  do  part,"  she  read  to  herself,  and 


A    TRANSATLANTIC    CHATELAINE.  25 

the  thought  of  dear,  kind,  generous  Uncle  Dick 
being  taken  from  her  brought  tears  to  her  eyes. 
He  was  the  only  person  in  the  world  she  really 
loved,  and  even  to  him  it  was  a  vague,  luke 
warm  affection  she  gave.  Never  in  her  life  had 
she  known  the  hot,  eager  rush  of  love  that 
chokes  with  sobs  and  blinds  with  tears,  called 
forth  by  the  mother  bound  to  her  child  by  a 
higher,  holier  tie  than  that  we  speak  of  as 
instinct.  Sylvia  was  ignorant  of  any  stronger 
emotion  than  that  roused  in  her  by  the  history 
of  a  noble  deed,  or  a  brave  act ;  but  whatever 
she  had  of  tenderness  to  bestow  was  Richard 
Huntington's. 

While  she  sat  absorbed  in  her  thoughts  she 
heard  wheels,  and  saw  Mr.  Andrews  driving  up 
in  the  station  wagon,  which  had  been  sent  for 
him.  Her  heart  beat  faster,  but  her  voice  was 
steady  as  she  answered  her  father's  call,  and  her 
step  light  and  calm  as  she  went  down  the  turn 
ing  stairs,  a  child  in  years,  a  woman  in  high 
courage  and  purpose. 

Her  father  took  her  by  the  hand  and  led  her 
into  the  white  parlor,  where  Mr.  Andrews  stood 
solemnly  with  bowed  head  behind  a  small  table. 
Justine  and  Deborah  were  in  a  corner,  each 
showing  her  deep  feelings  characteristically,  the 
French  woman  telling  her  beads  inaudibly,  her 
streaming  eyes  lifted  to  Heaven ;  the  New  Eng- 


26  .1    TRANSATLANTIC    CHATELAINE. 

lander  holding  herself  rigidly,  and  scorning  to 
use  the  handkerchief  for  which  her  loud  sniffs 
called. 

Huntington  was  standing  staring  into  the 
newly  lighted  fire,  and  seemed  startled  when 
Gilbert  touched  him  on  the  shoulder ;  he  had 
seen  the  face  of  his  first  and  only  love  in  the 
blue,  hurrying  smoke  as  she  looked  mockingly 
forth,  and  he  was  wondering  if  things  did  even 
up  in  the  end,  if  he  could  ever  feel  his  life  com 
plete,  full  as  it  had  been  of  all  that  men  prize, 
and  now  inspired  by  the  dream  of  a  glorious 
future  ;  and  as  he  pondered,  he  could  have  found 
it  in  him  to  envy  his  friend  Gilbert,  poor  in 
everything  except  the  memory  of  a  few  imper 
ishable  years,  filled  with  an  ardent,  undying 
love. 

The  girl  he  took  by  the  hand,  promising  to 
love  and  to  cherish,  had  but  a  small  share  of  his 
thoughts. 

Mr.  Andrews  had  rather  reluctantly  agreed 
to  use  the  Episcopal  form  of  service,  urged  on 
him  by  Gilbert,  who  pleaded  lack  of  time  for 
a  longer  ceremony,  really  dreading  an  intermi 
nable  prayer. 

Almost  before  she  realized  what  she  was 
doing,  Sylvia  felt  Richard's  warm,  hearty  kiss 
on  her  forehead,  and  heard  his  voice  say,  with 
a  natural  ring  that  in  part  took  off  the  dream- 


A    TRANSATLANTIC    CHATELAINE.  27 

like  effect  of  the   scene,   "  God  bless  you,  my 
wife." 

There  was  a  touch  of  amusement,  too,  in  his 
tone,  and  his  eyes  had  a  friendly  twinkle  that 
dried  the  tears  in  them.  Sylvia  put  her  arms 
round  his  neck,  and  hid  her  face  on  his  shoulder ; 
she  was  not  touched,  but  shy,  and  wished  that 
stupid  old  Mr.  Andrews  would  go  away.  To 
her  delight  she  heard  her  father  tell  him  that 
they  would  drive  him  home  as  they  went  to  the 
station,  bidding  him  hurry ;  then  he  kissed  Syl 
via  with  a  tenderness  she  did  not  recognize,  and 
said  that  he  would  try  and  come  to  see  her  again 
if  possible ;  if  not,  he  would  write,  and  Dick's 
lawyer  would  tell  her  what  arrangements  were 
to  be  made  for  her  during  the  coming  months. 
Huntington  himself  took  her  in  his  strong  arms, 
and  kissed  her  as  unceremoniously  as  if  she  were 
still  the  child  he  had  first  known,  telling  her 
that  his  sisters  should  call  on  her  at  once,  and 
if  she  liked  she  should  visit  them.  But  she  said, 
"  Oh,  no  ;  don't  let  them  ask  me,"  in  such  a  dis 
dainful  tone  that  he  laughed  and  said  she  should 
not  be  troubled  by  any  invitation.  Then  Gil 
bert  called  out  anxiously  that  they  had  only  just 
time,  but  he  had  mislaid  his  watch  ;  there  was  a 
rush  to  look  for  it ;  Mr.  Andrews,  already  in  the 
carriage,  kept  urging  the  need  for  haste,  joined  by 
the  driver  ;  Huntington  confounded  his  friend's 


28  A    TRANSATLANTIC    CHATELAINE. 

carelessness,  and  so  with  much  bustle  and  some 
laughter  they  drove  away,  softer  thoughts  ban 
ished  for  the  time. 

After  the  first  hour,  when  the  house  seemed 
very  silent,  and  she  found  it  hard  to  settle  to  her 
usual  routine,  Sylvia  slipped  back  into  her  old 
habits,  and  by  bedtime  had  been  so  engrossed 
in  "  Les  Trois  Mousquetaires  "  that  she  started 
with  surprise  at  Deborah's  playful  address, 
"  Mis'  Huntington,  it 's  time  to  put  out  the 
lamp." 


CHAPTER  II. 

THE  next  day  the  whole  affair  seemed  like  a 
dream  to  Sylvia ;  she  had  not  even  a  wedding- 
ring,  properly  speaking,  for  Huntington  had 
replaced  on  her  finger  one  that  she  habitually 
wore,  and  which  had  belonged  to  her  grand 
mother.  When,  according  to  the  promise  made, 
a  grave,  civil-spoken  lawyer  called  on  her,  and 
informed  her  with  much  respect  of  the  generous 
allowance  that  her  husband  had  ordered  to  be 
placed  to  her  credit  at  his  bank,  and  instructed 
her  in  the  mystery  of  drawing  a  cheque,  she 
had  the  impression  that  she  was  taking  part 
in  private  theatricals.  But  she  filled  her  role 
with  a  dignity  rather  pathetic  in  one  so  young, 
and  when  alone  set  herself  to  consider  what  she 
should  do  with  this  overwhelming  wealth. 

She  had  a  strong  conviction  that  it  would  not 
be  becoming  in  her  to  give  any  of  it  to  aid  the 
cause  she  and  her  father  had  so  much  at  heart, 
for  she  knew  that  Richard  was  not  one  of  them  ; 
as  for  herself,  what  did  she  want?  It  would  be 
absurd  to  get  gay,  rich  clothes ;  her  own  simple, 
well-made  dresses  were  much  more  fitting  for 


30      A  TRANSATLANTIC  CHATELAINE. 

her.  Her  father  being  away,  she  had  the  use  of 
his  saddle-horse,  and  that  was  a  delight  to  her, 
for  the  pony,  a  present  of  long  ago  from  Hunt- 
ington,  had  grown  too  old,  and  she  herself  too 
tall,  to  make  him  of  much  use,  except  to  drag 
his  little  cart. 

Some  books  she  did  want,  and  Deborah  should 
have  a  silk  gown  and  Justine  a  gold  watch.  She 
sent  Mr.  Andrews  a  handsome  sum  for  village 
charities,  and  after  her  one  trip  to  Boston, 
guarded  by  both  her  handmaidens,  to  make  her 
few  purchases,  she  settled  back  into  the  old  life. 

There  came  one  break  in  it,  the  day  that  her 
sisters-in-law  made  the  visit  that  their  brother 
had  ordered  —  there  is  no  milder  term  to  use. 
Sylvia  realized  that  her  father's  attitude  in  regard 
to  abolition  had  made  him  conspicuous,  and  she 
also  knew  that  he  had  been  treated  harshly  on 
account  of  his  beliefs,  and  gloried  in  picturing 
him  to  herself  as  a  martyr  ;  but  she  had  no  idea 
of  the  horror  he  inspired  in  her  conventional, 
narrow-minded  sisters-in-law,  or  of  the  indigna 
tion  which  they  felt  at  their  brother's  wickedness 
in  marrying  his  daughter.  Besides  the  social 
wrong  that  he  had  committed  in  their  eyes,  they 
both  felt  aggrieved,  because,  regarding  him  as  a 
settled  old  bachelor,  they  had  counted  on  their 
children  being  his  heirs,  and  it  was  hard  to  be 
forced  to  receive  a  little  chit  of  sixteen  into  their 


A    TRANSATLANTIC    CHATELAINE.  31 

family,  who  would  bring  with  her  ideas  harmful 
to  all  ranks  of  society. 

The  visit,  therefore,  was  not  a  success ;  neither 
lady  would  eat  a  crumb  of  the  cake  that  Deborah 
had  prepared  with  fluttering  care,  nor  drink  a 
drop  of  the  old  Madeira  for  which  the  Edwards 
family  had  long  been  famous.  They  sat  with 
their  eyes  fixed  on  the  clock,  horribly  afraid  of 
losing  the  return  train  to  town,  and  explained 
elaborately  why  they  were  unable  to  invite  Sylvia 
to  make  them  a  visit :  they  were  shutting  their 
houses  for  the  summer,  preparatory  to  going  to 
the  mountains  or  the  seashore.  She  listened 
with  her  grave  air,  treating  them  with  all  possi 
ble  deference,  and  no  one  could  have  suspected 
how  amused  she  was  at  their  transparent  subter 
fuges,  and  clumsy  attempts  to  patronize  her.  If 
Sylvia  had  been  older,  more  versed  in  the  ways 
of  the  world,  she  would  have  been  decidedly  de 
pressed  by  her  new  relations  ;  but  in  her  wise 
inexperience  she  took  a  "  short  view  of  life," 
looked  upon  the  episode  as  something  extremely 
ludicrous,  wished  that  she  had  some  one  to  sym 
pathize  with  her  amusement  over  the  anxiety 
displayed  by  the  worthy  dames  to  impress  on 
her  their  grandeur  and  importance,  and  forgot 
the  whole  affair  during  a  twilight  canter. 

Not  so  Deborah,  who  had  not  been  above  hov 
ering  about  the  hall  while  the  ladies  were  there, 


32  A    TRANSATLANTIC    CHATELAINE. 

and  had  gathered  enough  of  the  general  aspect 
of  things  to  rouse  her  wrath.  She  brought  the 
untouched  tray  with  the  heavy  cut-glass  de 
canter  of  an  old-fashioned  shape,  and  the  jin 
gling  glasses,  out  to  the  "  clock -room,"  where 
Justine  sat  at  her  work  in  the  western  sunshine. 

"•  Such  as  them  to  scorn  Miss  Sylvia,"  she 
burst  out,  having  carefully  set  her  burden  on  the 
table.  "  /  can  remember  the  day  when  they  was 
only  too  glad  to  be  asked  to  sip  a  drop  of  that 
wine  when  it  was  a  good  many  years  younger, 
and  would  nibble  any  crumbs  old  Mis'  Edwards 
would  throw  'em,  and  now  they  feel  too  fine  to 
break  bread  in  this  house !  They  was  always 
flattering  and  coaxing  Mis'  Edwards,  and  en 
couraging  their  brother  to  be  friends  with  Mr. 
Gilbert.  Their  impudence  beats  me." 

Justine's  eyes  flashed  with  a  dangerous  light. 
"  Did  they  trouble  my  lamb  ?  "  she  asked,  fold 
ing  her  arms  dramatically. 

"  Oh,  they  ain't  worth  our  bothering  over  them, 
Joosteen,"  returned  Deborah,  recovering  her 
serenity  under  the  healing  effects  of  sympathy, 
and  having,  besides,  a  wholesome  fear  of  the 
Frenchwoman's  temper, which,  joined  to  mutual 
respect,  produced  a  peaceful  combination. 

"  I  guess  they  did  n't  mean  to  set  my  back 
up  the  wrong  way  they  did,  and  Miss  Sylvia  's 
worth  ten  of  'em  anyway." 


A    TRANSATLANTIC    CHATELAINE.  33 

"  Mademoiselle  is  fit  to  be  a  duchess,"  said 
Justine  warmly :  "  I  have  seen  fine  ladies  in  my 
time,  but  not  one  more  beautiful,  more  worthy 
than  my  lamb." 

"  Yes,  you  '11  not  find  a  smarter  girl  under  the 
canopy,''  assented  Deborah,  and  cairn  reigned 
once  more. 

And  the  calm  continued  to  reign  in  the  soli 
tary  house,  the  only  ripples  of  excitement  being- 
caused  by  occasional  letters  from  Edwards  and 
Huntington,  who  v/ere  engrossed  in  their  work  of 
organization,  previous  to  leading  their  regiments 
to  the  seat  of  war  —  real  war  now,  in  grim  ear 
nest.  Sylvia  read  the  papers  eagerly,  and  fol 
lowed  every  step  of  the  gathering  forces.  She 
burned  to  have  her  two  soldiers  begin  their  work, 
and  chafed  at  the  necessary  delay. 

Then  one  day  came  a  letter,  bidding  her  to  go 
to  Boston  to  look  her  farewells  on  husband  and 
father.  She  obeyed  the  directions,  taking  Deb 
orah  with  her.  A  young  man  sent  by  Hunting- 
ton  met  them  in  the  city  and  conducted  them 
to  a  room  in  a  business  street,  through  which 
the  regiment  was  to  march.  Every  window  was 
crowded  with  faces,  and  Sylvia  scanned  them 
with  interest.  Some  of  the  women  wept ;  others, 
still  more  pathetic,  talked  and  laughed  ;  there 
were  boys  chafing  at  the  youth  which  kept  them 
at  home,  and  old  men  who  regarded  sons  and 
grandsons  with  envy. 


34  A    TRANSATLANTIC    CHATELAINE. 

At  last,  a  dry  sound,  the  tramp  of  feet  was 
heard  ;  many  a  wife  and  mother  fluttered  her 
handkerchief  gayly  as  her  brave  boy  in  blue 
marched  steadily  by,  and  then,  when  he  had 
passed  and  her  courage  was  not  needed  to  cheer 
him,  pressed  it  to  her  eyes. 

"Why  do  they  cry?"  Sylvia  asked  herself 
with  a  sort  of  scorn  ;  "  /  feel  like  singing  a  battle- 
hymn." 

"Here  comes  your  pa  —  may  God  bless  and 
keep  him,"  said  Deborah  in  a  shrill  voice  that 
broke  in  a  sob.  Sylvia  saw  him,  the  sunlight 
falling  on  his  face,  glad  and  confident  as  he 
looked  up  at  her  window.  "  That 's  the  way  he 
used  to  look  as  a  boy — bless  him,  bless  him! 
Oh,  if  his  mother  could  see  him  now  —  Perhaps 
she  does,"  said  the  faithful  servant,  twisting  her 
fingers  together  as  her  emotion  burst  through 
the  shell  of  her  New  England  self-consciousness. 
Sylvia  leaned  over  the  sill,  and  sent  him  glad  look 
for  glad  look  ;  they  were  both  proud  and  exalted  ; 
they  were  strung  up  to  an  heroic  pitch.  Then, 
when  Gilbert  had  disappeared,  down  the  street 
came  Richard,  his  broad  shoulders  and  manly 
air  giving  her  a  thrill  of  possessive  pride.  She 
leaned  out,  her  fresh  lips  parted,  her  cheeks 
glowing,  a  brilliant  image  of  enthusiasm,  a  very 
goddess  spurring  him  on  to  victory  she  seemed, 
in  the  dingy  frame  of  the  stone  window-casing. 


A    TRANSATLANTIC    CHATELAINE.  35 

Their  eyes  met  in  one  long-,  farewell  look ;  the 
light  faded  from  hers,  as  she  read  in  his  a  sim 
ple  courage,  and  a  wistful  pity  for  her  in  her 
young  ignorance  of  life.  The  pomp  of  war 
vanished,  and  in  its  place  remained  duty  in  all 
its  nakedness.  She  saw  the  yearning  in  his 
face,  and  her  heart  went  out  in  a  rush  of  ten 
derness  to  him.  "  I  know  now  why  they  cry," 
she  thought  as  she  drew  back  into  the  room, 
the  tears  rolling  down  her  cheeks. 

From  that  moment  he  lost  his  identity  with 
the  Uncle  Dick  of  her  childhood  ;  he  was  a 
hero,  and  his  life  was  a  solemn  drama  to  her 
—  a  tragedy  moving  with  inexorable,  fatelike 
steps  to  the  last  act,  when  they  brought  him, 
shot  through  the  heart,  back  to  old  Massa 
chusetts. 

His  sisters  were  frigidly  kind  to  her.  She 
went  to  them  for  a  short  visit,  and  came  back  to 
her  quiet  home  bewildered  at  the  views  they 
had  given  her  of  human  nature,  —  views  in 
which  the  importance  of  crepe  and  bombazine 
were  curiously  mingled  with  texts  from  Scrip 
ture  appropriate  to  their  affliction,  but  where  a 
thin  although  sincere  grief  reconciled  the  incon 
gruous  elements  of  the  mass  ;  the  kinder  they 
were  to  her,  however,  the  more  absolutely  apart 
from  them  did  she  feel,  and  she  left  them  with 
the  sensation  that  she  was  troinsr  back  to  find 


.'W  A    TKAXtATI.AXTlC    CHATELAINE. 

Richard,  and  to  mourn  undisturbed  for  his  un 
timely  end. 

It  was  an  untimely  end,  but  better  his  lot  than 
that  of  poor  Gilbert,  who  had  set  out  in  the 
"  glad,  confident  morning,"  hope  and  ambition 
gilding  his  attitude  of  self-sacrifice  ;  for  human 
ity  he  was  willing,  nay,  eager,  to  give  all.  But 
sometimes  all  is  simpler  to  give  than  half.  One 
gray,  rainy  evening,  when  the  wind  wailed  in  the 
chimney,  he  crept  back  to  his  hearth,  wounded, 
broken  in  body  and  mind.  His  career  on  the 
battlefield  had  been  but  a  repetition  of  his  whole 
life,  —  he  had  never  found  an  opportunity  to 
distinguish  himself  ;  he  had  not  been  a  favor 
ite  with  his  men  ;  his  real  gallantry  had  never 
been  given  a  chance  until  the  battle  where  he 
had  been  wounded  so  severely  that  his  life  was 
despaired  of  at  first. 

Disappointed,  his  only  friend  gloriously  dead, 
his  small  fortune  melted  away,  what  was  left  for 
him  ?  Nothing  but  to  drag  out  his  remaining 
years  a  pensioner  on  his  daughter's  charity.  He 
did  not  face  this  fact ;  he  was  not  a  man  to  face 
anything  disagreeable  ;  but  it  was  forced  on  him. 

Sylvia  during  their  three  years'  separation  had 
grown  from  a  child  to  a  woman  ;  her  simple 
black  dress,  her  grave  bearing,  the  high  nobil 
ity  of  her  thoughts,  her  best  companions,  which 
shone  seriously  out  of  her  eyes,  made  her  seem 


A    TRANSATLANTIC    CHATELAINE.  37 

older  than  she  really  was.  At  first  she  cared  for 
her  father,  humored  his  whims,  bore  his  caprices 
with  Spartan  patience.  Nevertheless,  the  sudden 
change  in  her  life  was  a  severe  test,  and  she 
was  but  a  very  human  creature  after  all.  For 
these  last  years  she  had  been  as  a  queen  in  her 
tiny  realm  ;  she  had  given  money  and  energy  to 
organize  a  Sanitary  Commission  in  the  village, 
where  her  youth,  her  generosity,  and  her  solitude 
made  the  country-folk  forget  her  father's  unpop 
ularity,  and  remember  only  her  husband's  gal 
lantry.  Never  contradicted,  her  simple  material 
wants  supplied  by  the  ever  watchful  Justine  and 
Deborah,  loved  and  praised  by  the  inferiors  sur 
rounding  her,  her  character  had  sent  out  vigor 
ous  shoots  in  one  direction,  but  there  was  nothing 
to  stimulate  a  balancing  growth  until  her  father's 
return. 

Then  came  the  rub. 

At  first  he  was  too  shattered  to  rouse  any  sen 
timent  save  that  of  pity  ;  but  as  he  grew  bodily 
stronger,  Sylvia  began  to  realize  the  fact  that 
she  was  the  possessor  of  a  very  quick  temper, 
which  was  daily  severely  tried  by  his  bitter, 
sneering  words.  It  mattered  little  whether  they 
were  directed  against  her  or  not ;  they  invaria 
bly  produced  a  tempest  of  indignation,  only  to 
be  calmed  by  a  long,  solitary  ride.  The  various 
physicians  and  surgeons  whom  she  called  in  to 


38  A    TRANSATLANTIC    CHATELAINE. 

aid  him  all  agreed  in  saying  that  his  wound  had 
affected  Gilbert's  heart,  and  that  any  contradic 
tion  or  undue  excitement  might  end  fatally,  so 
that  self-restraint  on  her  part  was  imperative. 
His  society,  too,  destroyed  for  her  the  uncon 
scious  content  she  had  felt  in  her  quiet  life  ; 
his  stories  of  the  people  he  had  known  and  the 
things  he  had  seen  gave  her  new  light,  and 
opened  her  eyes  to  the  fact  that  she  was  young 
and  fair,  that  the  world  was  vast  and  filled  with 
allurements.  Suddenly  she  began  to  long  for 
companionship,  for  gayeties  and  amusements, 
turning  with  distaste  from  her  books,  from  the 
brook's  song  and  the  perfume  of  the  flowers. 
She  neglected  her  work  on  the  Sanitary  Com 
mission,  giving  as  an  excuse  her  anxiety  to  be 
with  her  father,  and  then  spent  long  hours  in 
vague  discontent,  none  the  less  poignant  that 
she  could  give  her  wishes  no  name.  It  was  but 
the  natural  reaction  against  the  unnatural  soli 
tude  and  gravity  of  her  upbringing.  She  begged 
her  father  to  move  to  Boston,  so  that  they  might 
break  the  monotony  of  their  existence  by  going 
to  concerts  and  theatres,  but  he  shrank  from  the 
ordeal.  He  dreaded  to  have  the  cold  eye  of  the 
world  scan  the  broken  failure  of  his  life.  Trav 
eling  was  forbidden,  and  at  any  rate  they  were 
both  too  much  bound  up  in  their  country's  weal 
or  woe  to  willingly  leave  her. 


A    TRANSATLANTIC    CHATELAINE.  39 

There  were  days  when  Gilbert  rallied  and 
grew  young  again  ;  once  when  Lincoln  emanci 
pated  the  slaves,  and  again  when  the  decisive 
news  came  that  the  North  was  victorious. 

That  day  was  a  festival ;  to  please  him,  Sylvia 
gave  up  her  heavy  black,  and  sat  opposite  to  him 
at  dinner  in  fresh  white  with  a  bunch  of  violets 
at  her  belt. 

"  I  think  I  can  make  a  new  start  now,"  he 
said  gayly  :  "  I  am  no  longer  a  moral  leper  —  I 
will  begin  my  writing  again ;  I  have  a  thousand 
plans  in  my  head." 

She  sympathized,  trying  to  believe  that  he 
was  able  to  keep  his  word,  but  the  next  day  he 
was  very  ill ;  the  slight  excitement  had  been  too 
much  for  him,  and  Deborah,  whom  he  had  called 
in  the  night,  had  thought  that  he  was  dying. 
He  rallied,  however,  and  the  doctor  said  that 
there  was  no  cause  for  further  fear  at  present, 
so  the  old  routine  began  once  more. 

It  was  April  again,  and  one  morning,  a  few 
days  later,  Sylvia  woke  early.  The  birds  were 
rioting  outside,  but  through  their  singing  came 
a  sullen  clang :  it  was  the  bell  tolling  in  the  vil 
lage.  She  could  not  sleep  ;  a  heavy  depression 
enveloped  her ;  a  loathing  for  her  occupations, 
her  lack  of  living  interests,  her  powerlessness. 

She  dressed  and  went  down  into  the  hall.  It 
was  earlier  than  she  had  thought,  she  said  to 


40  A    TRANSATLANTIC    CHATELAINE. 

herself,  for  the  morning  paper  had  not  come  ;  it 
was  always  left  on  the  hall-table,  and  she  took 
it  to  her  father  with  his  breakfast  tray. 

She  stepped  out  into  the  crisp  air.  It  was  four 
years  since  her  wedding-day,  and  in  that  time 
nothing  had  changed.  The  elm-tree  was  a  lit 
tle  fuller,  the  house  had  had  a  fresh  coat  of 
paint,  the  crocuses  were  more  plentiful  —  that 
was  all. 

"  Will  nothing  ever  change  ? "  she  thought 
with  a  rush  of  impatience. 

"  Is  it  my  fault  ?  am  I  wanting  in  energy,  or 
am  I  paralyzed  ?  Oh,  that  bell,  that  bell,  it  will 
drive  me  mad." 

She  went  round  to  the  other  side  of  the  house. 
Deborah  was  standing  in  the  kitchen  porch,  look 
ing  after  the  retreating  form  of  the  postman,  an 
expression  of  horror  in  her  face. 

"What  is  it?"  asked  Sylvia;  the  woman's 
rigid  attitude  told  her  clearly  that  some  blow 
had  fallen. 

"  They  've  killed  the  President,"  answered 
Deborah,  with  rapid  conciseness. 

"  Oh,  no  —  it 's  impossible  —  it  can't  be  true." 

"  It  is  true.  Listen."  Clang  over  the  tree- 
tops  came  the  plaint  of  the  persistent  bell. 
"  There,  that 's  for  Mm." 

As  she  spoke  she  flung  her  apron  over  her 
face,  and  turned  away,  dumb  with  sorrow  and 


A    TRANSATLANTIC    CHATELAINE.  41 

anger.  Sylvia  was  stunned  by  the  tidings  for 
a  moment,  and  then  her  thoughts  flew  to  her 
father. 

"  We  must  keep  it  from  papa.  Where  is  the 
paper,  Deborah?" 

"  I  left  it  on  the  hall-table  nearly  an  hour  ago. 
Sam  Morris  has  been  here  all  this  time,  just  say 
ing  nothing." 

Sylvia  went  back  into  the  house  :  no,  the  paper 
was  not  there.  With  a  sudden  fear  shaking  her, 
she  went  swiftly  to  Gilbert's  door  and  knocked  : 
there  was  no  answer.  She  spoke  ;  all  was  still. 
Then,  summoning  all  her  courage,  she  turned  the 
handle  and  entered. 

He  was  sitting  beside  the  table,  with  his  head 
fallen  on  to  his  outstretched  arm  ;  one  hand 
clutched  the  paper  crumpled  in  its  grasp,  the 
other  hung  heavy  by  his  side.  He  did  not  stir 
when  his  daughter  came  to  him,  nor  did  he  an 
swer  when  she  called  his  name.  She  put  her 
hand  gently  on  his  shoulder,  and  then  a  solemn 
awe  came  upon  her,  for  she  knew  that  he  had 
reached  the  end  of  his  journey,  that  no  longer 
would  he  stumble  on  his  uncongenial  way ;  that 
betwixt  him  and  her  spread  the  mystery  of 
mysteries.  Through  the  open  window  came  the 
measured  tolling  of  the  bell  and  the  uncon 
cerned  jubilees  of  the  birds.  Fifteen  minutes 
before,  she  had  complained  that  nothing  ever 


42  A    TRANSATLANTIC    CHATELAINE. 

changed,  and  had  chafed  at  her  life  ;  now  to 
her  vision,  cleared  and  enlarged  by  death's  pi-es- 
ence,  her  murmurs  seemed  petty  and  childish. 

Had  she  loved  him  more,  she  would  have 
missed  him  more,  but  she  would  have  been 
spared  the  anguish  of  remorse.  The  memory  of 
a  thousand  trifles  tormented  her  in  the  weeks 
and  months  following  that  eventful  morning  — 
words  unspoken,  that  might  have  cheered  him ; 
her  frequent  lack  of  sympathy  expressed  by  an 
eloquent  silence  ;  her  hidden,  but  sharply  felt 
impatience  at  his  strictures  and  criticisms. 

"  If  I  had  only  known  how  soon  I  was  to  be 
free,  I  would  have  been  more  patient,"  she  cried 
in  her  bitter  self-reproach. 

There  were  very  few  letters  or  other  memen 
tos  of  her  parents'  life  together ;  in  their  seven 
years  of  bliss  they  had  seldom  been  parted  ;  but 
the  rare  fragments  she  found  showed  Sylvia  a 
new  phase  of  the  dead  man's  nature,  which  was 
expressed  in  tender,  self-abnegating  words  to 
the  woman  who  had  made  his  life  black  when 
she  withdrew  from  him  the  radiance  of  her 
presence. 

In  the  long  summer  days  Sylvia  pondered 
over  this  strange  passion,  this  love,  sung  by 
poets,  deified  by  men  ;  and  the  more  she  thought 
of  it,  the  more  she  grew  to  regard  it  as  a  mad 
ness.  She  saw  from  her  own  experience  how  it 


A    TRANSATLANTIC    CHATELAINE.  43 

had  ruined  her  father's  life,  and  deep  in  her 
heart  she  made  a  promise  to  herself  that  she 
would  so  mould  her  life  as  to  avoid  its  enchant 
ing  poison. 

Richard  Huntington's  death  and  burial  had 
taken  place  but  a  short  time  before  Gilbert's 
sad  return  to  his  home,  and  Mr.  Belknap,  Syl 
via's  lawyer,  had  duly  presented  her  late  hus 
band's  will  for  probate.  According  to  its  terms 
she  was  to  enjoy  the  use  of  the  income  of  the 
property  until  she  was  twenty-one,  when  the 
entire  fortune,  barring  a  few  bequests,  was  to 
be  put  into  her  hands.  It  had  now  become  her 
duty  to  make  her  own  will,  and  this,  in  her 
isolated  condition,  was  110  easy  task.  She  could 
not  consult  her  father,  for  any  kindred  subject 
agitated  him  sorely,  so  she  must  settle  all  for 
herself. 

She  had  decided  on  nothing  in  her  own  mind, 
except  the  fact  that  half  of  all  that  came  to  her 
was  to  go  back  to  Richard's  family  (his  sisters 
were  both  wealthy  women,  but  she  felt  that  this 
was  only  an  act  of  justice),  when  one  after 
noon  Mr.  Belknap's  card  was  brought  to  her  as 
she  sat  in  her  father's  room  reading  aloud  to 
him ;  it  was  one  of  his  bad  days,  and  he  had 
not  ventured  downstairs.  She  found  the  lawyer 
waiting  for  her  in  the  white  parlor ;  he  was  a 


44  A    TRANSATLANTIC    CHATELAINE. 

middle-aged  man,  of  rigid  integrity,  with  a  pro 
found  reverence  for  money ;  in  person  he  was 
small,  and  his  manner  was  dry  and  cool.  He 
seated  himself  to  his  satisfaction,  after  greeting 
his  client,  inquired  for  her  father,  expressed  his 
concern  at  the  bad  report  she  gave  him,  and 
spoke  casually  of  the  weather,  before  introdu 
cing  the  real  reason  of  his  visit. 

"  I  am  afraid  there  is  going  to  be  a  contest 
over  the  will,  Mrs.  Huntington,"  he  said  at 
length,  looking  at  her  with  his  sharp  little  eyes 
to  see  how  she  would  take  his  annoimcement. 

"  What  's  the  trouble  ?  was  n't  it  drawn 
right  ?  "  she  returned. 

He  was  a  little  stung  at  her  remark.  "  Drawn 
right  —  yes  ;  there  's  never  any  trouble  about 
my  wills.  That  is  not  the  point  the  other  side 
will  bring  up." 

"  Who  is  the  other  side  ?  " 

"  Your  late  husband's  sisters,  Mrs.  Townsend 
and  Mrs.  Adams." 

"  And  what  do  they  want  ?" 

"  They  want  everything,"  he  said  with  a  short 
laugh.  "  I  will  explain  matters  to  you.  I  sup 
pose  I  can't  see  your  father  about  it  ?  " 

"  Oh,  no,"  she  answered  hastily,  "  it  is  out  of 
the  question." 

"That's  bad  —  that's  unfortunate;  but  we 
will  do  our  best  without  him.  The  other  side 


A    TRANSATLANTIC    CHATELAINE.  45 

base  their  claim  on  a  charge  of  undue  influence 
brought  to  bear  011  your  husband  to  induce  him 
to  leave  his  entire  fortune  to  you." 

"  Whose  undue  influence  ?  " 

Her  eyes  were  so  truthful,  bearing  no  trace 
of  suspicion  in  their  limpid  depths  as  she  asked 
this  question,  that  Mr.  Belknap  hesitated  a  little. 
"Well,"  he  said  at  length,  stroking  his  chin,  "I 
presume  they  intend  to  suggest  yours  and  your 
father's." 

"  How  wicked  of  them !  how  false !  Why, 
Richard  begged  and  entreated  me  to  make  the 
sacrifice,"  she  burst  out. 

"  That 's  good  —  very  good  ;  now,  my  dear 
young  lady,  tell  me  all  about  it."  She  repeated 
the  events  of  her  wedding-day,  simply,  and  in 
a  manner  that  told  she  spoke  the  truth.  At  the 
end  of  her  story  Mr.  Belknap  seemed  plunged 
in  thought ;  then  he  said,  "  Well,  well,  who 
would  have  thought  that  Huntington  could  be 
so  romantic.  It  shows  how  little  we  know  our 
clients.  Now,"  he  added  in  a  brisker  tone, 
"  we  '11  prepare  for  the  fight.  I  'd  better  have 
Henley  on  our  side ;  he  's  a  very  clever  advocate, 
and  they  have  a  dangerous  fellow  to  represent 
them.  I  wish  that  Huntington  had  consulted 
me  first  —  there  was  really  no  need  for  so  much 
haste ;  but  there 's  no  use  crying  over  spilt 
milk." 


46  A    TRANSATLANTIC    CHATELAINE. 

"  Let  me  ask  you  one  or  two  questions  now. 
I  may  be  very  dull,  but  I  can't  even  yet  see  why 
they  think  they  can  get  all  this  money.  Did  n't 
Uncle  —  Mr.  Huntington  mean  me  to  have  it?  " 

"  Certainly  ;  that  was  his  wish." 

"And  was  the  money  his  to  do  what  he 
pleased  with?" 

"  Of  course  it  was  ;  he  and  his  sisters  inherited 
equally  from  their  father  ;  Richard  increased  his 
property  by  his  business  talent,  they  increased 
theirs  by  making  rich  marriages.  It  is  a  family 
where  money  seems  to  pour  in." 

"  Then  why  do  they  attack  me  ?  " 

The  man  of  law  gave  an  indulgent  chuckle  at 
the  display  of  so  much  innocence. 

"  Because,  my  dear  young  lady,  they  covet 
still  more ;  they  want  to  see  their  cups  running 
over,  and  their  granaries  bursting  with  wealth. 
Good-afternoon ;  you  may  count  on  me  to  keep 
you  informed." 

His  last  answer  had  roused  Sylvia's  indigna 
tion.  What  baseness,  what  hypocrisy  was  theirs ! 
So  little  while  ago  they  had  seemed  all  kind 
ness  and  tenderness  for  her  at  Richard's  funeral, 
and  even  then  perhaps  they  had  been  plotting 
against  her.  It  was  cowardly  to  strike  in  that 
way  at  a  young,  unprotected  woman,  —  a  stab 
in  the  back.  "  If  they  had  asked  me,  I  would 
have  given  them  half,  but  now  "  This  mood 


A    TRANSATLANTIC    CHATELAINE.  47 

continued,  so  that  when  she  received  a  line  from 
Mr.  Belknap,  saying  that  the  other  side  seemed 
inclined  to  draw  in  their  horns,  and  had  whis 
pered  the  word  "  compromise,"  she  wrote  back, 
"jVby  I  will  not  compromise  for  a  dollar.  That 
would  put  me  in  the  wrong,  and  make  me  feel 
that  I  had  110  right  to  the  share  left  me.  I  will 
fight  it  with  your  help." 

She  might  have  decided  differently  had  she 
foreseen  the  endless  trials  and  complications  to 
which  her  answer  pledged  her.  There  was  the 
necessity  of  keeping  her  father  in  the  dark 
regarding  her  frequent  trips  to  Boston ;  there 
were  tedious  hours  of  waiting  in  Mr.  Belknap's 
or  Mr.  Henley's  office,  for  interviews  with  those 
busy  gentlemen ;  there  was  the  humiliation  of 
learning  how  low  the  estimate  was  of  human 
nature,  as  shown  by  the  carefully  prepared  ques 
tions  that  Mr.  Henley  put  to  her. 

He,  by  the  way,  was  the  one  bright  spot  in 
this  dreary  time ;  he  had  known  her  grand 
parents,  had  been  in  love,  he  assured  her,  with 
her  grandmother,  and  showed  her  a  kindly  good 
will  that  touched  and  warmed  her.  He  was  a 
man  of  the  world,  too,  the  great  outside  world, 
who  spent  every  season  in  London,  and  knew 
everybody ;  she  felt  more  at  home  with  him 
than  she  did  with  fussy  little  Mr.  Belknap,  and 
he  became  interested  in  his  young  client. 


48  A    TRANSATLANTIC    CHATELAINE. 

At  last  the  clay  for  the  hearing  came  ;  Sylvia 
had  braced  herself  up  for  the  torture-raci,  and 
after  all  it  seemed  rather  a  tame  performance  to 
her.  When  the  testimony  that  her  father  was 
too  ill  to  appear  was  stated,  there  was  in  one 
or  two  questions  an  implied  sneer  that  brought 
the  angry  blood  to  her  cheeks,  but  she  controlled 
herself,  and  presently,  to  her  relief,  it  seemed  to 
be  all  over.  Before  she  could  congratulate  her 
self,  however,  Mr.  Henley  whispered,  "  These  are 
but  preliminaries,  you  know ;  they  are  merely 
feeling  their  way ;  they  want  to  see  our  strength. 
The  real  struggle  will  come  before  a  jury." 

He  rubbed  his  hands  with  a  pleased  look  as 
he  said  this ;  he  was  great  in  a  jury  trial,  and 
he  knew  it.  Her  face  fell.  "  When  do  you 
suppose  that  will  be  ?  "  she  asked  in  a  discour 
aged  manner. 

"  You  can  never  tell ;  in  six  months  perhaps, 
or,  again,  not  for  a  year,"  he  answered. 

So  it  dragged  on  uncertainly,  and  then  came 
her  father's  death.  While  she  was  still  feeling 
the  sharp  remorse  and  the  new  tenderness  caused 
by  it,  she  was  summoned,  with  Deborah  and 
Justine,  to  Boston  for  the  trial.  Mr.  Belknap 
engaged  rooms  for  them  in  a  dreary,  respectable 
hotel,  where  she  had  the  prospect  of  a  graveyard 
from  one  window,  and  a  narrow  gray  court  filled 
with  lawyers'  offices  from  another,  to  amuse  her ; 


.4    TRANSATLANTIC    CHATELAINE.  49 

there  she  waited  until  the  day  of  her  trial,  as  it 
indeed  proved,  arrived. 

The  opening  by  the  advocate  on  the  other 
side,  "  the  dangerous  fellow,"  filled  her  with 
angry  humiliation.  lie  painted  in  crude,  vulgar 
colors  the  innocent,  noble  friendship  which  ex 
isted  between  Huntington  and  the  inmates  of 
the  old  white  house,  —  the  disappointed,  strug 
gling  man  and  his  little  girl.  He  portrayed  Syl 
via  at  the  age  of  ten  with  all  the  clever  wiles  of 
a  Becky  Sharp,  and  no  one  in  history  or  fiction 
ever  approached  Gilbert  for  cunning  duplicity. 
That  opening  argument  crushed  her  so  that  her 
mind  scarcely  took  in  what  followed,  and  she 
was  in  a  confused  state  until  the  time  came  for 
her  cross-examination.  Then  she  rallied,  and  an 
swered  the  questions  put  to  her  with  so  much 
clearness  and  dignity  that  her  womanly  per 
sonality  evidently  impressed  the  jury  as  much 
as  did  her  fearless,  honest  eyes,  dark  with  feel 
ing.  She  looked  very  young  and  pathetic  as  she 
stood  alone,  her  black  dress  and  veil  accentuating 
the  slender  lines  of  her  figure,  and  the  delicate 
color  coming  and  going  in  her  face.  Mr.  Hen 
ley  and  Mr.  Belknap  felt  that  they  had  won 
when  their  practiced  eyes  noted  the  favorable 
impression  made  by  their  client,  and  whispered 
encouraging  words  to  her  as  she  took  her  seat 
onoe  more  bv  her  faithful  servants.  But  at 


50  A    TRANSATLANTIC    CHATELAINE. 

that  time  nothing  could  comfort  her  ;  she  was 
overwhelmed  by  the  horror  of  it  all,  and  felt 
that  no  number  of  fortunes,  piled  one  upon  the 
other,  could  repay  her  for  the  agony  of  hearing 
the  judge's  voice  ring  through  the  court-room 
in  his  charge  to  the  jury.  The  mere  naming  of 
such  suspicions  was  an  insult  to  the  dead  and  to 
the  living.  She  drew  her  heavy  veil  across  her 
face  ;  she  could  bear  no  eye  to  look  upon  her. 

When  the  jury  left  the  room,  she,  too,  rose 
and  went  to  her  hotel.  Nothing  seemed  of  any 
Consequence  now,  not  even  the  appearance  of 
Mr.  Henley  in  an  incredibly  short  time,  who 
bore  the  tidings  that  the  jury  had  brought  in 
a  verdict  in  her  favor.  "  And  a  pretty  bill  of 
costs  the  other  side  will  have  to  pay,"  he  ended 
with  a  chuckle. 

He  advised  her  to  stay  yet  another  night  in 
town,  as  there  would  be  business  matters  for 
her  to  settle  the  following  day,  and  left  her,  his 
kind  old  face  beaming  at  her  gentle  thanks,  and 
at  the  successful  issue.  When  he  had  gone,  she 
sent  Justine  and  Deborah  home,  rejoicing,  and 
then  sat  down  alone  in  her  dreary  little  sitting- 
room. 

The  victory  was  hers  —  but  what  a  barren 
triumph.  All  this  humiliation  and  angry  suffer 
ing  merely  to  keep  her  own.  And  now  that  it 
had  been  proved  hers  beyond  all  doubt,  what 


A    TRANSATLANTIC    CHATELAINE.  51 

pleasure  did  it  bring  to  any  one  ?  She  turned 
from  her  own  thoughts  with  a  sigh,  and  glanced 
at  some  newspapers  left  by  Mr.  Henley  on  the 
table.  A  rough  woodcut  caught  her  eye,  —  a 
bold,  ordinary  looking  woman,  with  an  exag 
gerated  crepe  veil  hanging  in  stiff  folds  from 
her  bonnet ;  underneath  were  the  words,  "  The 
Widow  Huntington  fighting  for  her  millions." 

It  was  so  bad,  so  beyond  caricature,  that  if 
any  friend  had  been  with  her,  Sylvia  would  have 
laughed ;  as  it  was,  she  cried  instead,  not  merely 
on  account  of  the  picture,  but  because  of  her 
sudden  realization  of  her  loneliness. 

"  I  can  never  show  my  face  in  Boston  again," 
she  thought,  with  a  yearning  to  be  at  home  in 
her  quiet  house.  She  shrank  behind  the  window 
curtains  so  as  not  to  be  seen  by  the  tired,  dusty- 
looking  men,  most  of  them  carrying  green  bags, 
who  came  out  of  the  dingy  houses  across  the 
way,  going,  bat-like,  to  their  homes  in  the  gray 
dusk.  A  hand-organ  ground  out  a  dismal  tune ; 
over  the  graves  came  the  sound  of  traffic  from 
a  busy  street  on  the  other  side  ;  a  lean  cat  stole 
stealthily  along  the  iron  fence  of  the  burial- 
ground.  It  was  all  ugly,  sordid,  and  Sylvia  felt 
stifled.  "  I  want  to  go  home,"  she  repeated  like 
a  child. 

But  the  next  day,  when  she  had  left  the  dull 
town  behind,  she  found  that  home  had  nothing 


52  A    TRANSATLANTIC    CHATEl.Al+iE. 

to  say  to  her.  Deborah  and  Justine  welcomed 
her  with  joy  ;  but  she  could  not  tell  them  of 
her  thoughts.  She  sat  solitary  at  the  little  feast 
that  they  had  prepared  to  celebrate  her  victory. 
The  good  souls  had  been  busy  all  day  about  it, 
and  had  been  eager  to  leave  the  city  so  as  to 
have  plenty  of  time  ;  flowers  and  candles  decked 
the  table  ;  Deborah  beamed  through  the  pantry 
door,  watching  Justine  serve  their  young  mis 
tress,  who  sat  alone,  pretending  to  be  pleased, 
and  forcing  herself  to  smile  and  taste  and  praise, 
but  her  heart  was  heavy  within  her,  and  it  was 
a  relief  when  Justine  left  the  room,  and  she  was 
free  to  go  into  the  white  parlor. 

There  she  found  the  same  sense  of  loneliness 
and  unnaturalness.  It  seemed  unlike  the  room 
she  had  always  lived  in,  and  bore  an  aspect  of 
frigid,  unused  cleanliness.  Not  a  stray  book 
lay  about,  but  they  all  stood  in  serried  lines 
dusted  by  careful  hands,  staring  at  her  from 
their  shelves  ;  her  writing-table  was  arranged 
in  immaculate  order  ;  her  work-basket  had  been 
put  away ;  every  chair  stood  in  a  formal  atti 
tude  and  the  atmosphere  of  home  was  banished. 
Truth  to  tell,  it  had  given  Deborah  untold  joy 
to  put  the  room  "  to  rights,"  and  she  had  been 
at  work  since  the  first  faint  glimmer  of  light  to 
accomplish  her  task. 

The  evening  was  too  warm  for  a  fire,  too  cool 


.1    T-mNSATLANTIC    CHATELAINE.  53 

to  have  the  windows  open  ;  Sylvia  did  not  know 
what  chair  to  take,  or  what  book  to  read.  All 
her  old  pursuits  seemed  to  have  lost  their  inter 
est,  and  she  had  not  even  been  to  the  stable  since 
her  return  to  see  the  pony  and  her  saddle-horse. 
A  sudden  panic  seized  her,  a  fear  of  the  soli 
tude  ;  the  brook's  babble  sounded  through  the 
evening  quiet,  and  she  felt  afraid,  as  she  used 
to  when  a  child.  She  rang  for  Justine. 

The  woman  entered,  her  heavy  tread  falling 
noiselessly,  her  square  face  at  first  stolid  and 
impassive  ;  after  Sylvia  had  spoken,  however, 
the  stolidity  vanished  and  her  deep-set  eyes 
glowed  with  the  intensity  of  her  feelings. 

"  I  want  you  to  talk  to  me,  Justine  dear," 
Sylvia  began.  "  I  don't  like  being  here  alone  ; 
sit  down,  please." 

Justine  obeyed.  "  I  know,"  she  said,  taking 
a  lowly  place  on  a  footstool,  —  "I  know  how  my 
lamb  has  suffered.  Deborah  thinks  only  of  the 
money,  but  I  think  of  the  cruel  words,  the  in 
sults.  I  would  like  to  kill  mademoiselle's  ene 
mies  !  " 

"  Oh,  no,  Justine,  it  is  not  quite  as  bad  as 
that,"  said  Sylvia  with  a  faint  smile. 

"  If  I  had  my  way  I  would  kill  every  one  who 
hurt  my  little  mistress.  I  would  carry  her  in 
my  arms  away  from  this  cold,  hard  land,  where 
gold  is  the  cry  ;  I  would  take  her  to  my  coun- 


54  A    TRANSATLANTIC    L'llATKLAlXK. 

try,  where  she  would  be  as  a  queen,  —  where  she 
and  not  her  money  would  be  worshiped." 

"  Why,  Justine,  I  have  never  heard  you  talk 
like  this  ;  why  have  you  always  been  so  silent 
with  me  ?  " 

"  There  are  times  for  all  things,  mademoiselle  ; 
I  was  silent  when  words  were  useless." 

"  Tell  me,  my  old  dear,  were  you  sad  when 
you  first  came  here  from  France  ?  " 

A  quiver  shook  the  muscles  of  her  square 
face  as  Justine  replied :  "  Mademoiselle  may 
well  say  sad  ;  my  heart  was  well-nigh  broken 
within  me.  Many  and  many  a  time  I  was  on 
my  way  to  monsieur  to  tell  him  it  was  stronger 
than  I,  the  longing  for  my  country,  when  a  caress, 
a  word,  a  laugh,  or  a  sob  from  my  lamb  stopped 
me.  I  reflected  that  it  was  she  who  made  my 
sunshine  ;  of  what  use  is  it  to  have  a  warm  body, 
if  the  heart  is  cold  ?  so  I  stayed.  Time  arranges 
most  things,  and  I  have  been  content." 

"  Oh,  Justine,  you  have  always  loved  me  ;  my 
money  is  nothing  to  you,  I  am  all.  How  can  I 
ever  pay  you  for  such  love  ?  " 

"  Mademoiselle  has  paid  me  over  and  over 
again.  I  never  would  have  spoken  before,  but 
now  she  is  free.  Oh,  come  to  my  beautiful 
France  !  Leave  this  cold  land,  come  to  my  coun 
try,  where  the  nobles  wait  for  a  king  to  follow, 
and  hold  aloft  the  white  lilies." 


A    TRANSATLANTIC    CHATELAINE.  55 

"  All,  that  is  past,  dear  Justine  ;  the  emperor 
lias  brought  peace  and  plenty  to  France  ;  per 
haps  that  is  better  for  the  people  than  the  days 
of  romance,  though  I  would  dearly  have  loved 
to  live  in  those  times." 

"  Mademoiselle,  I  am  of  a  humble  family,  but 
we  have  our  traditions  as  well  as  the  great  ones ; 
my  great-grandfather  fought  with  the  Vendeens 
when  they  mowed  down  the  Blues  like  so  much 
withered  grass  ;  our  seigneur  was  a  powerful 
noble,  and  I  know  what  I  say.  Come  away 
with  me !  Come  where  the  sun  is  more  kindly, 
where  the  earth  is  more  generous  ;  where  the 
saints  seem  close  to  you  in  the  great  cathedrals, 
and  touch  you  with  their  blessings  as  the  light 
streams  on  you  through  the  colored  windows. 
Leave  this  cold  country,  where  they  would  rob 
you  and  insult  you  ! ' 

The  woman  had  risen,  and  stood  glowing  with 
a  still,  inward  excitement,  her  hands  folded  on 
her  broad  bosom,  which  rose  and  fell  with  her 
quick-coming  breath.  Sylvia  seemed  to  see  a 
new  personality  in  her  old  nurse,  whose  enthu 
siasm  caught  her  in  its  rush. 

"  We  will  go,  Justine,  you  and  I !  We  will 
go  back  to  the  land  of  our  birth,  to  sunny 
France !  " 


CHAPTER  III. 

WHEN  Sylvia,  accompanied  by  her  faithful 
Justine,  began  her  journey  through  the  Old 
World,  her  character  was  a  curious  mixture. 
In  certain  ways  s.he  was  advanced  beyond  her 
years ;  in  others,  more  ignorant  than  many  a 
child.  Her  wide  knowledge  of  books  gave  her  a 
singular  sense  of  familiarity  with  the  places  she 
visited,  whilst  personages  of  history  and  fiction 
produced  a  fascinating  confusion  of  ideas.  At 
Venice  she  felt  that  Shylock  had  as  truly  trodden 
above  the  springing  arch  of  the  liialto,  as  that 
the  Ten  had  whispered  their  deadly  secrets  in 
the  Doges'  Palace.  In  Spain,  Don  Quixote's 
adventures  were  as  real  to  her  as  the  fact  that 
Columbus  had  set  forth  from  Granada  with  the 
queen's  promise  of  aid.  Her  imagination,  al 
ways  vivid,  was  stimulated  by  the  new  scenes 
about  her,  and  for  a  year  she  followed  her  hero 
or  heroine  of  the  moment,  taking  unnecessary 
journeys,  retracing  many  a  step,  and  enjoying 
her  life  in  a  way  that  she  had  hitherto  thought 
impossible.  All  this  time  she  lived  in  the  lives 
of  those  shades,  who  made  up  to  her  for  friends 


A    TRANSATLANTIC    CHATELAINE.  57 

and  family.  The  chance  acquaintance  of  travel 
were  to  her  the  misty  ones,  and  she  herself  only 
a  mirror  reflecting  days  and  emotions  that  were 
past.  She  took  pleasure  in  buying  and  wearing 
dainty  apparel,  because  it  seemed  to  her  right 
to  respect  herself,  and  her  instinctive  good  taste 
was  an  inheritance  from  her  mother.  But  at 
first,  beyond  this  natural  love  of  beautiful  sur 
roundings,  she  paid  very  little  attention  to  her 
self,  or  the  effect  she  produced  on  others.  The 
years  had  brought  her  many  gifts,  and  she  was 
a  woman  whose  grace  and  charm  impressed 
themselves  on  the  beholder  before  he  had  had 
time  to  discover  how  delicate  were  the  lines  of 
nose  and  mouth,  how  classic  the  shape  of  the 
well-poised  head  ;  that  the  dark  thick  hair  grew 
just  low  enough  on  the  broad,  fair  brow,  and 
over  the  small  ear;  and  that  when  one  looked 
closely,  the  deep-set,  gray  eyes,  fringed  with 
black  lashes,  had  gleams  of  violet  in  them  that 
flashed  into  brilliancy  at  any  excitement.  All 
these  observations,  however,  came  gradually ;  at 
the  first  sight  Sylvia's  real  but  unobtrusive 
beauty  was  less  noticed  than  her  harmonious 
movements  and  subtle  air  of  refinement  and 
breeding. 

At  first,  in  her  ignorance  of  the  world  of  to 
day,  with  all  its  seething  intensity,  she  was  well 
content  to  live  dreamily  in  the  past ;  but  this 


58  A    TRANSATLANTIC    CHATELAINE. 

could  not  last  always.  There  came  a  time  when 
she  looked  wistfully  at  two  sisters  discussing  a 
painting,  and  even  envied  a  share  in  the  little 
quarrels  and  bickerings  she  saw  going  on  among 
families  spending  their  vacation  in  traveling. 
She  began  to  want  companionship,  to  need  some 
one  who  could  understand  her  enthusiasms  ;  but 
she  knew  no  one.  She  always  had  her  private 
apartment  at  the  hotels,  and  her  evenings  were 
as  solitary  as  in  the  old  days,  for  she  did  not 
care  to  take  Justine  with  her  to  the  theatre  or 
opera,  the  servant  feeling  out  of  place.  This 
sentiment  of  loneliness  had  come  upon  her 
strongly  at  one  of  the  Italian  lakes.  She  had 
been  standing  on  her  balcony,  watching  a  party 
of  English  people  coming  home  after  a  day's 
excursion.  In  spite  of  tumbled  hair  and  dusty 
dresses,  they  had  looked  so  amused  and  inter 
ested,  had  laughed  so  heartily  as  they  entered 
the  hotel,  that  Sylvia  longed  to  ask  them  to  tell 
her,  and  let  her  laugh  too.  As  they  disappeared 
beneath  the  portico,  two  young  men  came  into 
sight,  swinging  along  with  that  easy  walk  which 
looks  like  play,  but  means  business.  They  were 
talking  earnestly ;  suddenly  one  turned,  and 
something  in  the  landscape  caught  his  atten 
tion  ;  he  pointed,  and  the  other,  after  looking, 
gave  his  companion  a  glance  of  sympathy.  They 
walked  on  more  slowly,  and  in  silence,  but  Syl- 


A    TRANSATLANTIC    CHATELAINE.  59 

via  felt  that  they  understood  each  other ;  that 
to  them  the  blue  mountains  and  glittering  lake 
gave  a  pleasure  unknown  to  her.  She  turned 
away  with  a  sigh,  and  entered  the  salon  where 
Justine  was  arranging  some  flowers. 

"  Tell  me  a  little  of  your  country,"  she  said. 
"  We  have  only  seen  Paris  in  France,  and  I  think 
I  want  to  go  back  there."  The  woman  stood 
upright,  dropping  her  flowers  on  the  table.  Her 
square,  ordinarily  stolid  face  became  animated. 
"  It  is  long  since  I  have  been  in  my  country,  but 
it  is  always  the  same,  though  all  my  people  are 
dead.  We  are  waiting  for  the  old  glories  again, 
madame.  It  is  all  very  fine  now,  but  we  who 
were  born  in  La  Vendee  know  that  it  is  not  the 
real  thing.  We  want  no  emperors  ;  we  are  wait 
ing  for  our  king  —  and  he  will  come!  Oh,  if 
madame  could  only  see  some  of  the  vraie  noblesse 
of  my  country.  They  are  brave  and  gallant ; 
they  always  pray  for  the  king's  return.  It  is  so 
different  from  the  people  we  have  seen,  —  these 
pigs  of  Germans  and  Italians,  English  and  Span 
iards.  If  madame  would  only  go  to  France,  she 
would  see  true  gentle  people." 

Sylvia  laughed  a  little  sadly.  "  I  should  see 
the  outsides  of  their  chateaux,  Justine  —  that's 
all.  I  am  getting  tired  of  seeing  only  exteriors  ; 
I  would  so  like  to  get  inside." 

Justine  stood    looking  at   her  mistress  help- 


60  A    TRANSATLANTIC   CHATELAINE. 

lessly.  It  seemed  to  her  that  no  one  in  all  the 
world  was  so  beautiful,  so  noble,  as  the  child 
she  had  brought  up.  She  was  sure  that  if  once 
the  door  could  be  opened  into  that  life  she  longed 
for,  all  would  bow  before  her ;  but  in  her  igno 
rance  she  saw  no  chance. 

"  1  always  think  madame  was  meant  for  a 
duchess  or  a  princess,"  she  said  loyally. 

"  Go  down,  Justine  dear,  and  arrange  for  a 
place  at  table  d'hote  for  me.  I  must  speak  to 
some  one  —  I  must  do  something  different/' 

When  she  was  left  alone  she  sat  musing,  think 
ing  of  herself,  a  most  unusual  thing.  It  came 
to  her  that  there  was  no  one  in  the  world,  with 
the  exception  of  two  servants,  who  loved  her ; 
and  no  one  whom  she  loved.  Richard  had  cared 
for  her  in  a  way  for  her  father's  sake,  but  not 
as  he  had  loved  the  woman  he  told  her  about. 
Her  father  had  given  her  a  grudging  affection, 
more  because  she  was  her  mother's  child  than 
because  she  was  his.  What  a  strange  havoc- 
working  malady  was  this  love  of  men  and  women. 
It  never  seemed  to  work  well  for  its  victims 
except  in  novels  ;  it  was  truly  a  malady.  She 
had  given  it  a  good  name,  and  would  always 
avoid  it ;  she  knew  its  dangers,  and  would  alone 
be  to  blame  if  it  was  ever  allowed  to  influence 
her.  But  companionship  was  different.  What 
sho  longed  for  was  cool,  sympathetic,  reasonable 


A    TRANSATLANTIC    CHATELAINE.  61 

friendship  —  how  could  she  ever  find  it  ?  At 
this  period  Sylvia's  character  was  like  a  half- 
ripened  peach,  —  her  hitellect,  which  had  been 
over  developed  by  her  severe  training,  was  like 
the  ruddy,  downy  hemisphere  of  the  fruit,  kissed 
into  perfection  by  the  sun's  heat ;  but  the  side 
towards  the  wall  as  hard  and  untouched  as  was 
Sylvia's  heart.  Her  impulses  were  all  kindly, 
but  lacked  enthusiasm.  Some  instinct  within 
urged  her  to  help  the  distressed,  to  be  gentle 
and  courteous  to  all  in  her  path ;  but  there 
was  no  comradeship  in  her  rare  relations  with 
the  outer  world ;  she  went  her  way  like  one 
apart,  until  a  glance,  a  silence  between  two  men, 
strangers  to  her,  made  her  understand  what  a 
friend  can  be.  As  she  sat,  wondering  in  a  vague 
way,  how  it  would  feel  to  have  some  one  near 
enough  to  her  to  praise,  to  find  fault,  to  criti 
cise,  even  to  quarrel  with  her,  the  door  opened, 
and  Justine,  her  face  all  aglow  with  interest, 
came  in.  "  What  is  it  ?  "  asked  Sylvia,  "  you 
look  as  though  something  had  happened." 

"  Madame  is  right ;  something  has  happened 
that  will  please  her.  Who  should  I  see  coming 
up  from  the  boat  but  Monsieur  Henley,  the 
good,  the  amiable?  I  told  him  we  were  here, 
and  he  is  to  call  for  madame,  and  take  her  down 
to  dinner  with  him." 

Sylvia  was  interested  and  pleased;  it  was  a 


62  A    TRANSATLANTIC   CHATELAINE. 

link  with  her  past,  slight  enough,  but  patheti 
cally  important  to  her. 

When,  prompt  as  the  dinner-gong,  her  old 
friend  made  his  appearance,  she  greeted  him 
with  a  cordiality  that  flattered  him,  coming  as  it 
did  from  a  young  woman  of  such  pronounced 
distinction  of  appearance.  He  took  her  hand  as 
if  he  had  been  her  uncle,  and  patted  it  gently 
as  he  said  :  "  This  is  a  great  pleasure  —  a  great 
pleasure  —  and  it  would  have  been  a  surprise  to 
see  your  good  serving-woman,  had  I  not  already 
heard  of  your  being  here." 

"  How  did  you  know,  dear  Mr.  Henley  ?  " 

"  From  an  English  woman,  Mrs.  Lee-Blair,  an 
old  friend  of  mine.  She  is  staying  in  the  hotel 
and  had  been  on  a  day's  excursion,  and  I  met 
her  on  the  boat.  I  told  her  that  I  hoped  the 
place  was  not  overrun  with  American  tourists, 
and  she  said  that  there  was  one  countrywoman 
of  mine  here,  who  looked  charming,  but  was 
very  exclusive.  I  asked  the  name,  and  she  said 
Huntington ;  still  I  should  not  have  known  it 
was  you  but  for  her  description." 

"  What  did  she  say  about  me  ?  "  asked  Sylvia. 

Mr.  Henley  chuckled. 

"  She  said  that  you  held  your  head  so  that 
one  looked  for  the  tiara,  and  had  a  smile  that 
seemed  to  say  you  saw  and  knew  things  that  no 
one  else  did." 


.4    TRANSATLANTIC    CHATELAINE.  63 

"  Your  friend  must  be  a  close  observer,"  an 
swered  Sylvia.  She  was  partly  amused,  and 
partly  annoyed  by  the  description.  "  Shall  we 
go  down  now?"  she  added;  "and  you  will  let 
me  prove  to  your  friend  that  I  am  not  as  super 
cilious  as  she  would  make  me  out.  Her  descrip 
tion  is  like  a  combination  of  a  race  horse  and 
the  Mona  Lisa." 

"  She  is  a  clever  woman,  nevertheless,  and  I 
mean  to  introduce  you ;  she  will  sit  by  me  at 
dinner." 

So  Sylvia  found  herself  suddenly  launched 
into  the  little  world  of  the  hotel.  It  was  chiefly 
filled  with  those  birds  of  passage  whose  sole 
business  in  life  seems  to  be  to  flutter  after  the 
best  climate.  Winter  finds  them  on  the  Riviera, 
spring  in  Paris  or  Venice,  summer  at  the  Italian 
lakes  or  French  watering-places,  and  autumn, 
migrating  southward  in  a  leisurely  manner  to 
begin  the  round  once  more.  One  wonders  if  any 
one  of  this  restless  tribe  ever  longs  for  a  nest  of 
his  own  ?  If  they  never  weary  of  beating  down 
hotel  bills,  of  trying  to  become  intimate  with 
other  birds  whose  gayer  plumage  and  crested 
heads  proclaim  them  of  a  nobler  birth,  and  of 
pecking  spitefully  at  the  meeker,  dingier  song 
sters,  who  are  perhaps  engaged  in  that  most 
desolate  and  despairing  game  of  hide-and-seek 
with  health ;  a  game  where  the  poor  little  bird 


64  A    TRANSATLANTIC   CHATELAINE. 

is  always  "  it,"  as  the  children  say,  and  catches 
but  rare,  tantalizing  glimpses  of  health's  rosy 
mocking  face  as  he  beckons  them  on. 

O 

Mr.  Henley's  friend,  Mrs.  Lee-Blair,  did  not 
strictly  belong  to  any  of  these  of  whom  I  have 
spoken.  She  came  of  a  good  family,  being,  as 
Mr.  Henley  informed  Sylvia,  the  daughter  of  a 
baronet,  but  with  so  little  money  that  she  was 
forced  to  live  economically  on  the  continent.  Her 
late  husband  had  left  her  a  bare  pittance,  and, 
the  old  gentleman  added,  it  was  extremely  cred 
itable  that  she  managed  to  make  such  a  good  ap 
pearance.  Flora  Lee-Blair  was  no  longer  young, 
but  she  gave  no  effect  of  age ;  a  modern  artist 
would  probably  have  fainted  had  he  heard  her 
figure  praised,  but  in  her  eyes  and  in  those 
of  her  admirers  it  was  her  strongest  point,  with 
broad  shoulders,  large  bust,  and  a  waist  whose 
size  gave  striking  evidence  of  a  patient  martyr 
dom  that  would  have  been  called  heroism  in  a 
better  cause.  Her  rather  large,  beak-like  nose 
and  prominent  chin  gave  her  at  first  sight  an 
eager,  rapacious  air,  which  the  full-lipped,  good- 
humored  mouth,  and  small,  merry  black  eyes 
contradicted.  Her  thick,  dark  hair  was  elabo 
rately  dressed,  and  her  toilettes  were  usually  in 
fairly  good  taste,  with  the  exception  that  she 
rejoiced  in  an  astounding  quantity  of  turquoise 
which  she  wore  bravely  on  all  occasions.  Her 


A    TRANSATLANTIC    CHATELAINE.  65 

voice  was  rich  and  low,  making  the  listener  feel 
that  it  was  almost  vulgar  to  sound  final  g's  and 
pronounce  ow  as  one  syllable,  so  charmingly  did 
her  accent  strike  on  the  ear.  She  could  write  a 
daintily  expressed  note  in  a  dashing  hand  that 
left  the  reader  unsure  as  to  the  exact  spelling, 
so  cleverly  she  made  one  letter  look  like  another. 
It  is  doubtful  if  she  ever  read  anything  but 
society  papers,  and  her  prayer-book ;  but  her 
want  of  education  was  atoned  for  by  great  social 
knowledge,  and  a  limited  amount  of  tact  sup 
plemented  by  a  really  warm  heart.  There  was 
no  pretense  about  the  woman ;  she  honestly 
acknowledged  her  deficiencies  in  a  way  that 
disarmed  criticism.  Had  she  been  enabled  to 
spend  her  life  in  the  manner  she  had  been 
brought  up  to  expect,  with  no  lack  of  those 
things  we  consider  necessary  until  we  lose  them, 
she  would  have  been  as  good,  straightforward, 
kindly  a  creature  as  could  be  found ;  but  years 
of  trying  to  make  a  pound  do  the  work  of  a 
guinea,  always  a  little  behindhand  with  her  bills, 
occasionally  compelled  to  submit  to  rude  inso 
lence  from  unpaid  inferiors,  had  developed  in 
her  a  strain  of  hardness  generally  characteristic 
of  an  adventuress.  Gradually  she  had  lost  her 
former  rather  fine  sense,  and  had  come  to  the 
point  where  she  congratulated  herself  gleefully, 
with  no  touch  of  remorse,  when  she  had  success- 


GO  .-1    TRANSATLANTIC    CHATELAINE. 

fully  lowered  a  just  bill  by  threats  of  what  her 
influence  eould  do,  or  quitted  a  place  a  week  in 
advance  of  the  time  she  had  previously  named, 
leaving  no  trace  by  which  the  despoiled  and  be 
wildered  tradesmen  could  follow  her.  She  kept 
these  little  transactions  very  quiet,  and  eased 
her  conscience  by  ardently  recommending  her 
unpaid  tailors,  milliners  and  dressmakers  to  all 
her  rich,  aristocratic  friends,  thus  more  than 
making  up  to  them  for  their  losses.  Some  lin 
gering  habit  from  her  early,  methodical  days 
made  her  keep  a  strict  account  of  all  she  owed, 
and  the  receipted  bills  were  filed  no  more  care 
fully  than  their  less  fortunate  brothers.  In 
spite  of  this  bad  streak  in  her  character,  which 
was  not  natural  to  it,  being  caused  more  or  less 
by  her  circumstances,  she  was  a  lovable  wo 
man,  and  also  an  extremely  amusing  companion. 
Partly  because  she  found  Sylvia  attractive, 
partly  because  of  a  judicious  hint  from  Mr. 
Henley,  she  was  very  kind  to  the  young  stran 
ger,  and  introduced  her  to  all  the  grandees  of 
the  place. 

Sylvia  soon  became  a  personage  among  them  ; 
her  dignity,  and  the  air  of  indifference  it  gave 
her,  made  them  credit  her  with  a  hauteur  that 
raised  her  immensely  in  their  opinion  ;  and 
a  woman  young,  beautiful,  independent,  and 
wealthy  is  always  interesting  to  her  fellow 


.•1    TRANSATLANTIC    CHATELAINE.  67 

beings.  She  was  delighted  with  the  new  at 
mosphere  surrounding  her ;  the  give  and  take 
of  conversation,  although  not  always  clever, 
amused  her ;  even  the  all-day  picnics,  which 
brought  forth  groans  and  abuse  from  those  most 
ardent  in  organizing  them,  gave  her  pleasure. 
She  regretted  that  it  could  not  last ;  but  Mr. 
Henley  always  disposed  ahead  of  all  his  time, 
so  he  could  not  linger,  and  Flora  Lee-Blair  had 
told  her  that  she  must  be  moving  on  at  the 
end  of  another  week.  She  was  frankly  sorry, 
and  in  a  talk  with  Mr.  Henley  told  him  so  ;  he 
threw  out  a  hint ;  Sylvia  caught  at  it  eagerly, 
and  before  the  night  closed  in  she  had  made 
an  agreement  with  Mrs.  Lee-Blair  that  the  latter 
should  become  her  companion. 

She  liked  her,  found  her  kindly  and  entertain 
ing,  and  for  the  time  she  was  willing  to  ignore 
that  the  older  woman  was  absolutely  incapable 
of  sympathizing  with  the  deeper  interests  of 
life.  Flora  was  so  elated  over  her  prospects  that 
she  became  emotional,  —  something  very  rare 
for  her,  —  and  refused  to  dwell  on  the  thought 
that  she  had  sunk  to  the  level  of  a  governess  ; 
it  haunted  her  a  little,  but  she  banished  it  reso 
lutely,  and  went  to  her  room  in  a  mood  of  sin 
cere  gratitude.  Half  her  first  year's  income 
would  enable  her  to  pay  the  more  pressing  of 
her  debts,  and  in  twelve  months  she  would  be  a 


68  A    TRANSATLANTIC    CHATELAINE. 

free  woman,  —  always  supposing'  Mrs.  Hunting- 
ton  chose  to  remain  Mrs.  Huntington.  Well, 
part  of  her  task  would  be  to  discover  her  charge's 
tendencies,  and  a  word  here,  a  look  there,  can 
work  wonders  with  a  woman  over  twenty  —  girls 
are  the  only  absolutely  unmanageable  creatures 
in  the  world. 

She  sat  down  at  her  writing  table,  and  open 
ing  her  prayer-book,  elaborate  in  its  purple 
velvet  binding,  read  the  General  Thanksgiving 
with  enthusiasm.  It  is  probable  that  she  gave 
to  the  word  "  preservation  "  therein  contained  the 
meaning  of  preservation  from  unpaid  accounts, 
insolent  shopkeepers,  and  all  the  ills  attendant 
on  a  small  income,  but  there  is  no  doubt  that 
her  impulses  at  this  time  were  good,  and  her 
intentions  praiseworthy. 

Having  shut  the  book,  she  took  from  a  large 
brass-bound  oaken  box  two  formidable  packs 
of  requests  for  immediate  payment.  They  were 
neatly  arranged  in  order,  and  the  oldest  were 
dated  years  before.  She  began  making  calcula 
tions, —  cheering  ones,  to  judge  by  her  expression 
at  the  beginning  of  her  task,  but  as  the  lines  of 
figures  grew  longer,  so  did  her  face.  She  had 
resolved  to  pay  every  penny  she  owed,  make  a 
fresh  start,  and  be  economical ;  but  when  she 
had  resolved  this  she  had  not  realized  how  ap 
pallingly  large  the  sum  of  her  debts  was.  A 


A    TRANSATLANTIC    CHATELAINE.  69 

year's  income  pay  them  off?  No,  nor  two,  nor 
three  years,  generous  as  the  offered  salary  was. 
She  thought  despondingly  how  unlikely  it  was 
that  a  woman  like  Sylvia  should  remain  unmar 
ried —  do  what  she  might  to  prevent  such  a 
catastrophe.  Then  it  occurred  to  her  that  she 
had  not  troubled  herself  much  about  her  indebt 
edness  before  ;  why  should  she  now  ?  She  took 
all  those  prayers  for  payment  over  a  year  old, 
and  sitting  by  the  fireplace  began  to  burn  them. 

As  they  curled  and  shriveled,  sending  a  pleas 
ant  aromatic  odor  into  the  room,  she  caught 
sight  of  the  various  items.  Three  hundred 
francs  for  that  old  blue  silk ;  how  ridiculous 
to  think  of  paying  it  now,  when  the  dress  had 
been  in  rags  for  longer  than  she  could  remem 
ber.  That  leghorn  bonnet  with  the  roses  — 
what  a  price  she  had  paid  for  it,  or  no,  rather, 
what  a  price  the  milliner  had  asked  —  it  was 
pure  robbery,  and  the  roses  had  faded,  too ; 
then  that  turquoise  bracelet  she  had  got  dirt 
cheap  at  Genoa ;  but  one  of  the  stones  had 
turned  green  almost  immediately.  Tradespeo 
ple  were  nothing  but  brigands  and  cheats,  she 
decided  with  righteous  indignation,  as  the  last 
paper  rose  with  a  dying  protest  against  her  judg 
ment,  and  fell  exhausted  on  the  black,  crackling 
heap. 

"  Now,  if  I  am  to  live  with  a  swell  I  must 
have  something;  decent  to  wear." 


70  A    TRANSATLANTIC    CHATELAINE. 

So  saying  she  wrote  an  order  to  her  Parisian 
dressmaker  for  some  new  creations,  and  inclos 
ing  a  cheque  for  her  previous  bill,  she  rang  and 
sent  it  downstairs  for  the  early  post.  When  she 
laid  her  head  on  her  pillow,  it  was  with  a  clear 
sensation  of  comfort ;  if  all  her  debts  were  not 
exactly  paid,  one  of  them  at  least  was,  and  the 
greater  part  were  burned,  therefore  forgotten. 

The  next  morning  her  maid  was  made  happy 
and  astonished  by  the  payment  of  her  wages  to 
date  and  the  present  of  a  very  presentable  frock  ; 
so  she  approved  of  the  new  order  of  things  quite 
as  much  as  her  mistress. 

Sylvia  had  already  felt  a  thrill  of  pleasure  by 
being  able  to  use  the  pronoun  "  we  "  instead  of 
"  I,''  and  the  only  person  who  felt  a  doubt  about 
the  suitability  of  the  arrangement  was  Justine. 
An  instinct,  perhaps  born  of  jealousy,  made  her 
suspicious  of  this  English  woman,  with  her  showy 
presence.  She  even  wondered  if  the  Mr.  lien- 
ley,  whom  she  had  sincerely  admired  until  now, 
was  not  in  a  plot  against  her  darling. 

u  You  don't  look  pleased,  Justine.''  said  Syl 
via,  a  little  severely,  as  she  told  her  news  that 
same  evening. 

"  Madame  will  never  see  France  now  ;  she  will 
go  to  that  cold,  foggy  England,"  retorted  the 
servant,  her  eyes  dark  with  wounded  feelings. 
"  Madame  will  be  obliged  to  have  a  new  maid." 


A    TRANSATLANTIC    CHATELAINE.  71 

"  Why,  Justine,  you  foolish  old  sheep  !  Part 
with  you,  my  dear,  dear  nurse  ?  Never  !  And 
if  you  please,  my  lady,  since  when  have  you  be 
come  so  formal «\vith  me?  For  shame,  Justine. 
You  have  no  right  to  doubt  my  love  and  grati 
tude  for  you,  —  you,  who  have  been  almost  a 
mother  to  me.  What  would  have  become  of  me 
when  I  was  little,  without  you?  " 

"  You  would  have  had  Deborah,"  mumbled 
Justine,  a  little  appeased,  and  allowing  her  jeal 
ousy  to  take  another  turn. 

"  You  are  too  unreasonable  to  listen  to  me  to 
night,"  said  her  mistress  ;  "  but  you  must  under 
stand  one  thing :  we  are  going  almost  directly 
to  France,  to  Trouville,  where  Mrs.  Lee-Blair 
knows  many  people.  Now  are  you  satisfied  — 
old  grumbler  ?  " 

"  Trouville  is  not  really  France,  it  is  only  a 
watering-place  for  Parisians  and  strangers  ;  but 
it  is  better  than  nothing." 


CHAPTER  IV. 

TROUVILLE  nearly  thirty  years  ago,  —  Trouville 
under  the  second  empire  !  In  modern  times  was 
there  ever  such  a  seething  maelstrom  of  extrava 
gance,  false  taste,  fierce  excitement,  and  romance, 
both  real  and  fictitious  ?  Is  it  the  distance  lend 
ing  enchantment  that  makes  us  feel  that  women 
were  more  beautiful,  men  more  redoubtable  and 
fascinating  in  those  days  ?  Did  hearts  beat  with 
more  fervor  and  less  self-control  under  lace 
fichus  then  than  they  do  now  under  a  stiff  man 
nish  shirt  front  ?  As  comradeship  between  the 
two  sexes  has  increased,  has  sentiment  dimin 
ished  ?  Perhaps  the  many  interests  that  have 
come  into  the  lives  of  women  of  later  years  have 
made  them  less  susceptible  to  love  ;  the  great 
gain  has  been  attended,  it  may  be,  by  some  little 
loss.  To  read  a  novel  of  that  period  makes  one 
think  so,  at  all  events,  and  it  was  into  this  emo 
tional  whirl,  this  concentrated  imitation  of  Paris 
in  her  heyday  of  dissipation,  that  Sylvia  made 
her  first  acquaintance  with  the  world,  the  flesh 
and  the  devil.  They  were  all  very  rampant, 
and  some  women  would  have  been  confused  and 


A    TRANSATLANTIC   CHATELAINE.  73 

bouleversee  by  the  novelty  of  the  situation.  Syl 
via,  however,  kept  her  head  admirably.  She  was 
so  familiar  with  the  fabulous  splendors  of  his 
tory,  which  lost  nothing  pictured  to  her  by  her 
vivid  imagination,  that  realities  fell  short  of  her 
mind  pictures.  Who  among  this  showy  crowd 
could  boast  of  a  retinue  to  equal  that  of  Car 
dinal  Wolsey  ?  What  jewels  shine  like  those  of 
Anne  of  Austria  ?  It  was  all  very  gay  and  very 
brilliant,  but  it  seemed  thin  to  her,  —  as  thin 
as  the  walls  of  the  spacious,  luxurious,  over- 
furnished  villa  that  Flora  had  secured  for  her. 
Everything  had  a  transient  air ;  it  was  a  mush 
room  growth. 

In  spite  of  her  unexpressed  disappointment 
she  took  keen  pleasure  in  her  first  plunge  into 
the  society  of  the  place.  Mrs.  Lee-Blair  was  a 
very  pointer  in  her  social  nature,  and  had  an 
unequaled  eye  for  the  "best"  people,  —  those 
who  would  be  of  use.  She  was  charmed  to  find 
that  Sylvia  bade  fair  to  be  a  success ;  a  woman 
of  her  nature  adores  success,  and  she  congratu 
lated  herself  twenty  times  a  day  on  her  discern 
ment.  At  the  end  of  ten  days  Sylvia  became 
the  fashion.  It  had  taken  her  very  little  time  to 
adjust  herself  to  her  surroundings.  With  the 
facility  common  to  her  countrywomen  she  learnt 
in  a  flash  the  ways  of  thought  and  the  terms 
of  speech  of  those  about  her.  Those  who  were 


74  A    TRANSATLANTIC   CHATELAINE. 

not  clever  enough  to  perceive  her  real  brilliancy 
took  it  for  granted  from  the  lips  of  the  more 
discerning  ;  and  all  the  Trouville  world  found 
it  easy  to  admire,  without  being  told  to,  her 
charm  and  distinction,  her  good  looks  and  ex 
quisite  clothes,  her  irreproachable  turnouts  and 
excellent  dinners. 

At  first  Sylvia  entered  into  it  all  with  the  zest 
of  a  child ;  the  compliments  pleased  her,  her 
popularity  so  easily  gained  delighted  her.  Then 
came  the  trail  of  the  serpent ;  the  thought  that 
it  was  her  fortune,  not  herself,  that  put  her 
where  she  was.  The  morning  papers  that  Jus 
tine,  beaming  with  pride,  brought  her  with  her 
early  cup  of  tea,  rubbed  in  the  disagreeable 
truth.  She  was  called  "  the  witty  and  wealthy 
Madame  Iluntington,"  "the  beautiful  million 
aire,"  in  the  florid  accounts  of  balls  and  races. 
She  grew  to  have  a  sensitive  loathing  of  the  mere 
sound  of  money ;  it  began  to  have  a  vulgar  jingle 
in  her  ears.  Who  would  have  discovered  her 
wit,  her  fascination,  her  beauty,  if  she  had  come 
unheralded  among  this  butterfly  throng?  Be 
fore  the  first  three  weeks  were  over,  she  had  be 
come  cynical ;  behind  the  smiles  of  her  flatterers 
she  fancied  that  she  could  see  greed  and  avarice 
barely  hidden  by  an  assumed  mask.  She  used 
to  tell  herself  daily  that  Justine  had  been  right ; 
the  ideal  France  must  be  different,  and  she  would 


A    TRANSATLANTIC    CHATELAINE.  To 

ply  her  old  nurse  with  questions  about  her  coun 
try.  In  spite  of  the  frivolous  life  about  her,  the 
frothy  vice,  the  constant  repetitions  of  scandals 
that  made  her  soul  feel  withered  and  worldly, 
she  kept  her  belief  that  somewhere,  hidden  in 
the  green  interior,  still  existed  romantic,  gallant 
hearts,  and  she  resolved  to  find  them  for  her 
self,  to  see  the  reality.  Moving  in  the  midst  of 
frivolity,  seeming  to  an  observer  merely  on  the 
surface,  a  charming  embodiment  of  worldliness, 
Sylvia  still  kept  hidden  in  her  heart  a  store  of 
romantic  faith.  Most  people  need  imperatively 
something  to  worship,  an  idol  of  stone,  or  an 
abstract  virtue,  for  lack  of  anything  better.  She 
had  her  belief  in  heroism  and  self-sacrifice  to 
dream  over.  No  other  belief  had  been  pre 
sented  to  her  in  a  manner  that  appealed  to  her. 
The  lurid  doctrine  that  she  had  listened  to  dur 
ing  her  youthful  days  had  only  inspired  revolt 
and  skepticism  ;  the  unreasoning  devotion  to 
signs  and  symbols  taught  her  by  Justine  had  in 
their  turn  led  her  to  a  spirit  of  mockery ;  but 
bravery  for  and  devotion  to  a  noble  cause  meant 
God  to  her,  and  her  dearest,  closest  wish  was  to 
be  identified  with  such  a  cause. 

Thus  she  lived  her  life  of  gayety  and  amuse 
ment,  surrounded  by  all  outward  signs  of  success 
and  luxury,  simultaneously  with  an  inward,  hid 
den  life,  the  only  signs  of  which  were  the  sudden 


76  A    TRANSATLANTIC    CHATELAINE. 

glow  of  warmth  in  her  serious  eyes,  and  the  in 
explicable,  subtle  smile  on  her  lips,  brought  there 
by  some  chance  word,  some  vague  association  of 
ideas,  at  the  most  unexpected  moments. 

But  she  was  always  searching  for  some  em 
bodiment  of  her  ideal ;  every  new  presentation 
might  mean  that  she  had  found  at  last  the  right 
path  ;  but  one  disappointment  followed  another. 

"  Are  these  the  best  people  ? "  she  asked 
Flora  one  day  ;  "  they  all  seem  so  commonplace 
and  banal  to  me." 

"  I  don't  know  what  more  you  could  wish," 
retorted  Mrs.  Lee-Blair,  somewhat  offended. 
"  We  began  with  a  baronne,  and  yesterday  a 
duchesse  invited  you  to  dinner ;  I  am  sure  I  can 
do  nothing  more." 

kt  We  are  not  talking  exactly  of  the  same 
thing,"  said  Sylvia,  puzzled  to  know  how  to  ex 
press  herself ;  and  then  the  incongruousness  of 
it  all  struck  her  with  rather  a  dismal  amuse 
ment.  She  caught  sight  of  herself  in  her  mir 
ror,  dressed  to  perfection,  the  incarnation  of 
worldly  grace  and  beauty ;  her  horses  were 
stamping  impatiently  at  the  gate,  where  her 
victoria  waited  for  her ;  her  footman  stood  re 
spectfully  holding  her  wrap  and  her  card-case, 
in  which  was  a  list  of  the  calls  that  she  and 
Flora  were  about  to  make,  —  a  list  which  seemed 
to  glisten  with  high-sounding  titles ;  and  she 


A    TRANSATLANTIC    CHATELAINE.  77 

stood  dreaming  of  a  chance  for  heroic  deeds, 
longing1  for  a  cause  worth  dying  for.  Little 
wonder  that  her  unconscious  smile  gave  her  a 
sphinx-like  touch  of  mystery. 

Just  as  she  had  decided  that  Trouville  bored 
her,  and  had  begun  to  wonder  if  it  would  be 
unkind  to  drag  Flora  away  from  its  distractions, 
a  newcomer  appeared  on  the  scene,  and  Sylvia 
found  that  he  made  life  more  interesting ;  he 
was  a  fresh  type,  and  he  stimulated  her.  Mrs. 
Lee-Blair,  who  by  dint  of  confidential  talks  just 
before  bedtime  thought  that  she  had  found  the 
key  of  Sylvia's  ambition,  namely,  a  title,  —  for 
what  else  did  her  rare  words  about  nobility  and 
greatness  mean  ?  —  bent  all  her  energies  to  the 
task  of  blackening  the  character  of  any  count 
or  baron  who  was  in  the  least  devoted  to  her 
charge  ;  and  in  passing,  be  it  said,  that  her  task 
was  not  a  difficult  one.  But  she  paid  little  at 
tention  to  the  newcomer  already  mentioned,  —  a 
young  cavalry  officer,  Captain  Maurice  Regnier, 
not  even  possessing  a  de  before  his  name.  To 
her  mind  Sylvia  was  so  cold  and  immovable 
that  the  fact  that  Regnier  was  handsome,  well 
built,  and  brilliant  was  of  no  importance.  To 
Sylvia  herself,  however,  this  fact  did  convey 
something.  What  this  something  was  she  did 
not  analyze  ;  but  she  knew  that  the  very  first 
time  they  met  their  conversation  plunged  from 


78  A    TRANSATLANTIC   CHATELAINE. 

the  conventionalities  of  an  introduction  immedi 
ately  into  the  heart  of  things ;  that  almost  without 
realizing  it  she  had  permitted  him  to  join  her  in 
her  morning  rides ;  that  a  dinner  without  him, 
even  with  all  the  table  between  them,  became 
an  intolerable  bore.  She  took  it  for  granted 
that  it  was  their  mutual  tastes  which  brought 
them  together :  they  both  loved  horses  and  rid 
ing  with  enthusiasm  ;  they  met  on  the  common 
ground  of  literature,  for  she  found  to  her  delight 
that  he  knew  as  much  of  English  authors  as  she 
did  of  French,  although  he  spoke  only  his  own 
tongue.  But  it  was  something  deeper  and  wider 
than  mutual  tastes  which  made  her  when  with 
him  find  salt  in  the  world  she  had  called  insipid. 
She  did  not  suspect  what  the  real  charm  was 
underlying  his  beauty  of  face  and  form,  his  boy 
ishly  gay  manner,  and  his  high  spirits  ;  she  did 
not  feel  that  Maurice  Kegnier's  nature  had  just 
the  tenderness,  the  enthusiasm,  for  the  soft  lov 
able  things  of  this  world  that  she  had  missed 
all  her  life.  lie  spoke  of  his  feelings  with  the 
unconscious  naturalness  of  a  child,  and  liked  to 
tell  this  gracious  woman  about  himself,  watch 
ing  her  grave  eyes  brighten  and  glow  until  the 
gray  turned  to  violet.  He  even  confided  to  her 
the  secret  of  his  life,  that  he  wrote  poetry, 
although  he  confessed  that  his  brother  officers 
would  never  give  him  a  moment's  peace,  were 


A    TRANSATLANTIC    CHATELAINE.  79 

they  to  know  that  he  was  the  author  of  a  volume 
of  poems  which  had  been  praised  by  the  Revues 
and  had  become  the  fashion  in  Paris.  Sylvia 
found  herself  feeling  young  and  careless  when 
with  him ;  there  was  a  breeziness  in  his  atmos 
phere,  a  sudden  shifting  from  grave  to  gay,  a 
possibility  of  an  outbreak  of  his  hot  but  forgiv 
ing  temper,  that  gave  a  variety  and  fascination 
to  his  companionship.  Imperceptibly  the  heat 
of  the  sun  was  turning  to  pink  the  hard  side  of 
the  peach  ;  little  by  little  Sylvia's  temperament 
was  waking  from  its  profound  slumber.  It  is 
the  old  fairy  story  again,  the  sleeping  beauty 
and  the  prince.  But  alas,  life  is  not  all  a  fairy 
story :  heroes  and  heroines  do  not  always  "  marry 
and  live  happily  forever  after." 

"  How  beautiful  it  all  is ;  how  I  love  your 
France  ! "  exclaimed  Sylvia,  standing  at  the  open 
window  and  drinking  in  the  fresh  breeze.  The 
day  was  drawing  to  a  close,  and  over  the  hori 
zon  a  soft  grayish  pink  haze  had  begun  to  settle ; 
the  low  rays  of  the  sun  striking  the  dancing 
waves  were  reflected  on  the  ceiling  of  the  gay, 
over-furnished  salon  ;  from  the  casino  on  the 
beach  floated  up  the  music  of  a  waltz,  and  the 
confused  sounds  of  laughter  and  talk.  Sylvia 
had  just  returned  from  a  drive,  and  Maurice, 
being  by  some  strange  chance  at  the  gate,  had 
followed  her  into  the  house.  Turning  from  the 


80  A    TRANSATLANTIC   CHATELAINE. 

window  she  seated  herself  in  a  low  chair,  and 
began  drawing  off  her  gloves,  while  her  eyes 
still  lingered  on  the  expanse  of  sea  and  sky. 

"  My  France  !  "  said  Maurice,  echoing  her  last 
words  energetically.  "  This  is  not  France,  this 
hurly-burly,  this  mushroom  growth  of  villas 
springing  up  in  a  night  and  insulting  the  rocks 
and  the  ocean.  Please  do  not  call  it  by  that 
name  ;  it  jars  on  a  man  who  really  loves  his 
country,  as  much  as  if  you  thought  his  mother 
was  one  of  those  painted,  bedizened  old  creations 
of  this  second  empire,  who  toss  their  heads  with 
pride,  because  the  mountebank  now  in  power 
labels  them  princesses  or  duchesses." 

Sylvia  listened  earnestly.  She  might  learn 
something  of  that  higher,  finer  life  she  felt  sure 
existed  out  of  sight,  hidden  by  the  rush  and 
glitter  of  the  world  of  fashion.  "  Tell  me  about 
your  real  France,  and  your  real  nobility,  there," 
she  said. 

"  I  would  give  a  year  of  my  life  to  be  able  to 
have  the  right  to  show  you  my  home  and  my 
people,"  he  answered,  a  little  tremble  in  his 
voice,  showing  the  sincerity  of  his  words. 

"  Tell  me  about  them,"  again  said  Sylvia, 
dreamily  resting  her  head  against  the  back  of 
her  chair,  and  looking  at  him  with  half-closed 
eyes.  At  her  request  Regnier  started  from  his 
chair  and  took  two  or  three  turns  up  and  down 
the  room. 


A    TRANSATLANTIC    CHATELAINE.  81 

"  I  don't  know  how  to  begin,"  he  said  at  last. 
"  I  am  bound  to  it  by  such  strong,  and  at  the 
same  time  such  fragile,  ties  that  I  am  afraid  the 
spell  might  disappear  if  I  spoke  of  it,  and  yet 
there  is  no  one  in  the  world  I  would  rather  tell 
all  my  dearest  thoughts  to  than  you." 

"I  know  that  curious  flitting- away  effect 
some  ideas  have,"  said  Sylvia,  ignoring  his  last 
remark,  "  You  cannot  always  call  them  by 
name,  they  seem  to  need  different  words  to  ex 
press  them." 

"  Yes,  that 's  it  —  they  are  always  just  ahead 
of  us.  And  I  suppose  that  is  what  genius  can 
do  —  fix  them  either  on  canvas,  in  words,  or  in 
marble,  and  make  them  permanent.  I  am  no 
genius,  but  I  want  you  to  see  through  my  eyes 
for  the  moment.  You  may  think  that  I  am  wild," 
he  went  on,  blushing  in  a  delightfully  youthful 
way  that  he  had,  "  but  if  I  may  take  your  emer 
ald  ring  and  look  at  it,  I  believe  I  can  describe 
better." 

Sylvia  did  not  smile  as  she  handed  it  to  him ; 
she  knew  a  little  what  he  meant. 

He  laid  it  on  the  table  before  him,  folded  his 
arms  and  leant  forward,  looking  at  it  intently. 
Sylvia  watched  him,  thinking  how  handsome  he 
was  :  how  well  his  crisp  brown  hair  grew  behind 
his  ears  and  on  his  muscular  neck ;  how  sweet 
ness  and  strength  were  combined  in  the  curves 


82  A    TRANSATLANTIC    CHATELAINE. 

of  his  lips,  and  how  nice  it  would  be  to  see  him 
in  his  full  uniform  ;  but  not  a  suspicion  of  any 
warmer  feeling  than  friendly  admiration  made 
her  pulse  beat  faster,  or  her  eye  gleam  brighter. 
Presently  he  spoke,  and  his  voice  sounded  as 
though  he  were  telling  a  fairy  story  to  a  child. 
"Once  upon  a  time,"  he  began,  "nearly  nine 
hundred  years  ago,  there  lived  in  Touraine  a  man 
of  force  and  courage,  not  always  used  by  him 
for  the  best  causes.  His  name  was  Foulques 
Nerra,  and  the  legend  runs  that  he  loved  a  beau 
tiful  woman,  not  his  wife,  and  that  he  built 
a  castle  for  her  which  he  called  La  Roche,  and 
gave  her  the  title  of  Countess  de  La  Roche. 
There  she  lived  in  grandeur,  and  there  he  often 
came,  until  a  feeling  of  remorse  for  some  of  his 
brutalities  prompted  him  to  leave  France  on  a 
crusade.  He  rode  away,  and  during  his  absence 
she  bore  him  a  son ;  but  the  time  was  long,  and 
before  he  came  back  she  had  died,  and  was 
buried  in  the  chapel  tunneled  into  the  rock  be 
neath  the  castle,  and  there  she  lies  to  this  day. 
Her  son,  who  inherited  both  title  and  fortune, 
grew  strong  and  brave,  like  the  roving  Foulques, 
and  the  time  came  when  he  in  his  turn  went 
to  the  Holy  Land.  On  his  return  he  had  with 
him  the  cone  of  a  cedar  of  Lebanon,  which  he 
planted  on  the  terrace,  and  he  had  these  words 
cut  in  old  French  on  a  stone  shield  in  the  chapel : 


.4    TRANSATLANTIC    CHATELAINE.  83 

"  When  the  green  turns  brown,  shall  crumble 
the  stone.'  He  gave  orders  that  when  his  time 
came  he  should  be  buried  beneath  the  carving. 
The  old  cedar,  or  perhaps  its  offspring,  still 
lives,  and  it  was  under  its  branches  I  learned 
to  love  all  things  that  are  beautiful  and  strong 
as  it  is.  Your  emerald  has  not  its  bluish-green 
color,  but  it  is  like  the  century-old  moss  on  its 
bark,  which  shines  like  a  jewel  when  the  sun 
strikes  it." 

Pie  paused  for  a  moment,  but  Sylvia  remained 
silent ;  she  was  touching  at  last  the  things  of 
which  she  had  only  seen  the  shadows  before. 

"  There  are  only  three  existing  reminders  of 
those  days,"  he  went  on  ;  "  the  old  cedar,  the 
square  dove-cote  tower  standing  a  little  apart 
from  the  chateau,  and  the  chapel  in  the  rock. 
The  three  greatest  truths  in  the  world  symbol 
ized  :  the  cedar  standing  for  nature,  the  dust  of 
the  past  generation  in  the  chapel  for  death, 
and  the  home  of  those  gentle  domestic  birds  for 
love." 

"  Love,  always  love,"  thought  Sylvia  impa 
tiently,  but  she  said  :  "  Tell  me  more  ;  how  does 
it  all  look  to-day,  and  who  lives  there?" 

Maurice  leant  back  in  his  chair  and  resumed 
in  a  more  commonplace  tone.  "  The  mother  of 
the  present  count  lives  there  now.  Her  hus 
band,  who  had  all  the  good,  and  none  of  the  bad 


84  .1    TRANSATLANTIC    CHATELAINE. 

qualities  of  his  ancestors,  died  about  six  years 
ago.  He  was  my  hero  ;  brave,  loyal  to  the  lilies 
of  France,  and  ready  to  die  for  them  ;  but  when 
he  found  that  was  a  hopeless  dream  he  took  up 
his  life  at  home,  cheerful,  kindly,  generous  to 
every  one.  The  only  thing  that  made  him  lose 
his  temper  was  to  hear  the  emperor  praised,  and 
the  only  thing  that  saddened  him  was  one  of  his 
rare  visits  to  Paris,  where  he  could  not  help  see 
ing  the  changes." 

"But  how  did  you  come  there,  in  his  cha 
teau  ?  "  asked  Sylvia. 

"  My  father  was  not  only  his  agent,  but  his 
very  dear  friend  ;  he  managed  the  estate  for 
many  years,  and  lived  in  the  old  wing ;  rny  sis 
ter  and  I  were  both  born  there,  and  my  mother 
died  there  when  we  were  children.  The  young 
Count  Philippe  and  I  are  about  the  same  age, 
and  we  were  educated  together  for  St.  Cyr. 
When  his  father  died  he  left  mine  a  legacy 
that  made  him  independent,  so  the  dear  old  man 
bought  a  property  that  belonged  formerly  to  his 
grandfather,  not  far  from  La  Roche,  and  there 
he  lives  among  his  vines  and  his  books  with  my 
sister  and  her  children." 

"  Were  n't  you  sorry  to  go  away  from  your 
old  home  ?  "  asked  Sylvia. 

Maurice's  lips  tightened,  as  if  to  suppress  a 
quiver.  "  Yes,"  he  said  ;  "  I  cannot  quite  under- 


.1    TRANSATLANTIC    CHATELAINE.  85 

stand  why  it  was  such  a  terrible  wrench  for 
me.  Even  to-day  I  am  made  gloomy  for  a  week 
after  a  call  on  the  countess.  I  felt  as  though  I 
had  been  banished,  and  I  still  have  a  sensation 
of  rage  that  it  is  not  mine.  But  I  never  spoke 
of  this  to  any  one  else,  because  I  would  not 
trouble  my  dear  old  father  for  the  world,  and 
he  is  a  thousand  times  happier  now  than  he  ever 
was  before.  He  and  the  countess  are  very  fond 
of  each  other ;  she  consults  him  on  business 
arrangements,  and  often  conies  to  see  him,  but 
he  very  rarely  goes  to  the  chateau." 

"  Describe  a  little  more,  please  ;  I  do  so  love 
to  hear  all  this,"  said  Sylvia. 

"  Stop  me  if  you  get  tired,  won't  you?" 

"  I  am  never  tired  when  I  am  interested  —  it 
is  only  when  I  am  bored  :  so  go  on  —  you  inter 
est  me." 

He  looked  his  happy  thanks,  and  continued. 

"  The  chateau  stands  on  a  slight  rise  looking 
down  on  the  Loire,  and  consists  of  two  wings 
facing  each  other ;  they  are  connected  on  the 
side  farthest  from  the  river  by  a  low  line  of 
buildings  in  the  centre  of  which  is  the  gateway 
under  a  stone  arch  ;  you  enter  the  court-yard 
through  this  arch,  and  opposite  you,  forming 
the  fourth  side  of  a  quadrangle,  is  a  wall,  from 
which  descends  a  broad  flight  of  steps  leading 
to  the  terrace  where  the  cedar  stands  ;  below 


80  .1    TRANSATLANTIC    CHATELAINE. 

that  again  are  the  gardens  stretching  nearly  to 
the  river." 

"  I  can  see  it  all,"  exclaimed  Sylvia  ;  "  and 
now,  on  which  side  of  the  entrance  was  your 
wing  ?  " 

"  On  the  right,"  answered  Maurice,  pleased  and 
stimulated  by  her  eagerness.  "  It  is  supposed 
to  date  from  the  time  of  Louis  XI.  In  the  time 
of  Francois  I.  it  comprised  the  whole  chateau, 
and  in  it  lived  the  head  of  the  family.  lie  was 
a  great  favorite  with  the  king,  who  sometimes 
visited  him,  and  La  Roche  is  one  of  the  few 
properties  which  received  its  grant  immediately 
from  the  Crown.  The  counts  have  always  held 
themselves  above  every  one  but  the  royal  family  ; 
they  acknowledge  no  superior  among  the  nobil 
ity.  In  spite,  however,  of  their  lofty  bearing, 
this  count  I  am  telling  you  of,  the  friend  of 
Francois,  was  very  poor.  He  was  a  born  gam 
bler,  and  little  by  little  everything  had  gone. 
Ruin  stared  him  in  the  face,  and  he  became  des 
perate.  The  legend  runs  that  he  played  dice 
with  the  devil :  the  stakes,  his  soul  against  a 
fortune.  How  true  the  story  is  I  cannot  say, 
but  the  fact  remains  that  he  divorced  his  wife, 
and  married  a  lady  of  great  beauty.  "With  the 
money  she  brought  him  he  built  the  new  wing 
after  the  fashion  of  the  day.  The  lady's  ances 
try  was  never  discovered.  A  portrait  destroyed 


.4    TRANSATLANTIC    CHATELAINE.  87 

in  1793  pictured  her  with  auburn  hair,  and  very 
fair  skin,  if  old  tales  can  be  believed.  Her  very 
name  is  a  mystery,  and  it  is  said  she  never  spoke 
a  word  of  French,  which  points  to  her  being  a 
foreigner.  At  first  her  husband  was  infatuated 
with  her ;  but  in  a  few  years  he  grew  tired  of 
her,  and,  after  the  fashion  set  by  Henry  of  Eng 
land,  did  his  best  to  shake  her  off,  too.  He 
failed  in  his  attempt.  The  rest  of  their  lives  is 
unknown ;  but  it  is  easy  to  fancy  what  it  was. 
Nothing  is  so  unbearable  as  the  ashes  of  a  burnt- 
out  love." 

"  And  yet,"  said  Sylvia,  a  little  scornfully, 
"  just  now  you  put  Love  with  Nature  and  Death. 
Why  ?  What  right  has  it  there  ?  " 

"  What  right  ?  "  he  echoed  vehemently.  "  Are 
you  in  earnest  when  you  ask  a  question  like 
that?" 

"  In  earnest,  yes,  —  dead,  grim  earnest.  I  am 
afraid  of  love  ;  I  dread  its  power,  that  seems  like 
a  poison.  My  scheme  of  life  shuts  it  completely 
out  from  me." 

"  But  you  are  wicked  to  say  such  a  thing !  you 
are  worse  than  wicked,  —  you  are  unnatural !  " 

"  No,"  answered  Sylvia,  "  it  is  only  that  I  see 
things  as  they  are.  I  have  seen  my  father's 
whole  life  embittered  and  brought  to  an  empty 
end,  because  he  loved  my  mother  so  exclusively 
that  when  she  died  he  lost  interest  in  every- 


88  .4    TRANSATLANTIC    CHATELAINE. 

thing.  I  have  been  persecuted  and  nearly  beg 
gared  by  the  very  people  who  should  have  pro 
tected  me." 

"  You  have  had  a  hard  experience  ;  but  you 
should  not  allow  it  to  color  your  life.  Believe 
me,  there  are  still  many,  many  people  in  the 
world  full  of  romance  and  disinterested  feel 
ings." 

"  Perhaps  —  but  it  is  a  mercenary  age,"  she 
said,  with  a  dreary  fall  to  her  voice.  "  I  may 
misjudge  it  —  it  may  be  that  my  education  was 
in  fault.  Still,  in  spite  of  his  failures,  my 
father  never  lost  his  ideals,  and  I  grew  up  car 
ing  nothing  for  money,  but  building  an  altar  to 
patriotism  and  nobility  of  character,  where  I 
worshiped." 

"  It  is  an  altar  worthy  of  a  hero's  devotion  ; 
but  for  you,  —  a  woman,  —  is  n't  it  rather  a 
cold,  hard  place?  Does  it  satisfy  you?" 

"  No,"  she  said  frankly  ;  "  it  does  not.  No 
thing  has  ever  satisfied  me  in  all  my  life,  except 
the  feeling  I  had  the  day  when  I  saw  my  hus 
band  and  my  father  marching  at  the  head  of 
their  men,  all  going  to  risk  their  lives,  some  to 
lose  them,  for  the  sake  of  their  flag.  I  had 
made  my  little  sacrifice  in  the  same  spirit  that 
they  were  making  their  large  ones.  Then,  and 
then  only,  I  felt  that  I  was  a  part  of  a  whole  ; 
not  an  insignificant  atom,  tossed  here  and  there, 


A    TRANSATLANTIC    CHATELAINE.  89 

but  of  importance,  because  I  had  done  my  share 
as  well  as  they.  I  try  to  remember  papa  as  he 
looked  that  day,  the  sunshine  falling  on  him, 
his  face  young  and  glad  and  proud.  Justine 
said  it  was  always  so  when  my  mother  was  alive. 
Her  death  crushed  his  vitality,  his  joy  in  liv 
ing,  his  sense  of  duty  to  me,  out  of  him.  Only 
patriotism  had  the  power  to  bring  back  his  own 
nature.  And  without  judging  him,  I  have  pon 
dered  ever  since  what  a  selfish,  narrowing  force 
this  passion  is  that  we  call  love :  it  is  a  remnant 
of  the  dark  ages.  We  should  rise  above  it,  and 
I  mean  to  try  in  my  small  way  to  do  so." 

"  You  can't,"  said  young  Regnier ;  "  it  is 
stronger  than  you  ;  it  is  nature  ;  it  is  woman's 
religion." 

She  shook  her  head.  "  No  ;  it  is  an  idol  wor 
ship,  adopted  more  as  an  excuse  than  anything 
else." 

"  I  wish  you  would  not  say  such  shocking 
tilings !  I  hate  to  hear  you,"  he  said  with  a 
flash  of  temper  that  amused  his  hearer,  and  as 
he  spoke  he  rose,  and  stood  at  the  window 
against  the  glitter  of  the  sunlit  sea.  Sylvia 
could  see  his  well-poised,  Greek  head,  his  col 
umn-like  throat,  full  as  an  athlete's,  and  his  tall 
figure  ;  but  his  face  was  in  darkness,  owing  to 
the  dazzle  without. 

"  Sit  down  where   I   can   see  you,"   she  said 


90  A    TRANSATLANTIC   CHATELAINE. 

with  a   gentle   imperiousness.     "  That  is  right. 
Now  I  can  tell  just  how  angry  I  dare  to  make 

you." 

In  spite  of  his  twenty-seven  years  Captain 
Regnier's  face  showed  his  feelings  like  that  of  a 
child.  Just  now  his  dark  brown  eyes,  set  wide 
apart,  were  black  with  momentary  heat,  and  his 
short  upper  lip  curled  with  an  expression  far 
from  peaceful.  His  was  a  face  full  of  possibili 
ties  for  good  or  bad.  A  student  of  such  signs 
might  have  foretold  that  his  actions  in  one  direc 
tion  or  the  other  would  be  guided  by  his  vehe 
ment,  enthusiastic  nature,  which  was  a  little  too 
credulous  perhaps,  too  prone  to  jump  at  conclu 
sions  ;  whilst  the  firm,  square  chin  gave  promise 
of  a  latent  power  of  self-command,  to  be  roused 
to  action,  or  not,  as  circumstances  arose. 

"  Before  you  judge  me,"  Sylvia  continued, 
"  let  me  ask  you  one  question,  and  answer  me 
fairly.  Here  am  I,  a  young,  independent, 
wealthy  woman.  Which  course  is  the  nobler 
one  for  me  to  follow  :  to  marry  a  man  who  tells 
me  he  adores  me,  who  may  seem  to  me  as  being 
attractive  and  fascinating,  to  spend  one  or  two 
years  —  perhaps  a  quarter  of  my  life  even  — 
in  a  supreme  selfishness  a  deux  ;  to  lose  him  in 
the  end  either  because  he  dies,  or  is  tired  of  me, 
or  because  I  die,  or  am  tired  of  him.  No,  let  me 
finish,"  she  insisted,  as  he  began  an  interruption. 


A    TRANSATLANTIC    CHATELAINE.  91 

"  There  is  one  side  ;  here  is  the  other :  I  take 
my  fortune  and  give  it  freely,  together  with  my 
hand,  to  some  nobleman,  the  last  of  a  great 
family  which  is  dying  out  for  lack  of  means.  I 
sink  myself  in  the  case,  only  caring  to  see  an 
illustrious  name  shine  out  again,  bringing  credit 
to  all  connected  with  it.  Which  is  the  more 
unselfish,  the  more  noble  ?  " 

Maurice  did  not  answer  her  question,  but 
turned  catechizer  in  his  turn. 

"  If  you  have  these  high  ideals  of  self-immo 
lation,"  he  asked  severely,  "  why  did  you  come 
over  the  seas  ;  why  did  you  not  stay  at  home, 
and  marry  one  of  those  mercenary  relations  you 
just  complained  of  ?  " 

"  Plow  dull  men  are,  even  Frenchmen !  "  she 
exclaimed.  "That  is  just  it!  I  don't  want 
to  be  married  for  my  money,  but  for  what  my 
money  can  accomplish.  Besides,"  she  added  with 
a  swift,  charmingly  illogical  twist  of  her  ideas, 
"  I  love  great  names,  great  families,  titles,  and 
if  I  give  up  everything,  why  have  n't  I  a  right 
to  please  myself  in  the  giving  ?  " 

She  herself  saw  the  weakness  of  her  argument, 
and  smiled  at  him.  He  forgot  her  words  for 
a  moment  in  the  joy  of  looking  at  her;  then 
he  said,  recalling  himself  a  little  sharply,  "  Who 
has  put  these  ideas  into  your  head  ?  Is  it  Mrs. 
Lee-Blair  ? ' ' 


92  A    TRANSATLANTIC    CHATELAINE. 

Sylvia  resented  his  tone.  "  No,  monsieur,  I 
am  woman  enough  to  think  out  my  own  plan 
of  action.  But  why  do  you  dislike  poor  Flora  ? 
you  never  say  anything  good  of  her." 

"  I  never  said  anything  bad  of  her,"  he  an 
swered  evasively. 

"  Then  let  us  be  friends,"  she  returned,  quickly 
dropping  the  touch  of  displeasure  in  her  voice, 
"  and  don't  scold  me  because  I  own  that  I  care 
for  some  of  those  things  for  which  half  the  world 
is  struggling." 

"  I  have  no  right  to  scold  you,  madame,"  he 
answered,  a  little  puzzled  at  her  remark. 

Perhaps  one  of  the  reasons  why  she  fasci 
nated  him  was  her  originality ;  her  careless 
friendliness  of  speech  was  mingled  with  such 
gentle  dignity  of  manner,  and  such  purity  of 
mind,  that  he  bowed  before  her  even  when  he 
understood  her  the  least.  It  would  have  been 
impossible  to  be  on  the  same  terms  with  a 
French  woman. 

It  may  have  been  this  peculiarity  that  led  the 
people  of  the  gay  world  at  Trouville  to  regard 
Mrs.  Huntingdon  as  a  new  variety  of  the  human 
race,  and  led  to  much  discussion  of  her  character ; 
she  was  an  iceberg  —  she  was  an  intrigante  — 
she  was  unusually  stupid  —  she  was  excessively 
clever,  and  so  on,  according  to  the  bias  of  mind 
of  those  discussing  her.  In  short,  she  was  one 


A  TRANSATLANTIC  CHATELAINE.     93 

of  the  first  American  women  to  rouse  French 
curiosity.  Then,  as  to-day,  feminine  morality  was 
called  frigidity,  and  ease  of  manner  the  flower 
of  coquetry. 

"  I  am  not  presuming  to  find  fault,"  Regnier 
went  on,  "  but  if  you  had  seen  as  much  of  these 
fine  sounding  families  as  I  have,  I  think  that 
you  would  consider  very  gravely  any  step  such 
as  you  propose." 

"  Tell  me  a  little  about  them,"  she  said 
eagerly.  "  You  seem  so  different  from  these 
people  here ;  they  make  me  feel  that  they  are 
hired  to  go  inside  the  villas,  and  that  they  will 
be  stored  with  the  satin  furniture  when  autumn 
conies." 

He  laughed  a  little,  and  then  returned  to  his 
charge. 

"  Please  tell  me  that  you  were  in  fun  just 
now ;  you  did  not  mean  what  you  said  about 
love  ?  " 

"  Yes,  yes  ;  I  meant  every  word  ;  it  is  some 
thing  to  be  avoided,  and  the  mere  thought  of  it 
frightens  me." 

"  Then  you  do  not  know  the  true  meaning 
of  love,  if  you  are  frightened  by  it.  You  are 
talking  in  ignorance ;  some  day  you  will  feel 
differently." 

His  words  were  insignificant,  but  his  manner 
and  the  brilliancy  of  his  eyes  that  seemed  to 


94  A    TRANSATLANTIC    CHATELAINE. 

imperiously  compel  hers  to  meet  their  glance 
embarrassed  Sylvia.  She  looked  at  him  for  a 
moment  that  seemed  an  hour  to  her,  and  then 
her  lids  drooped.  She  could  not  understand 
why  she  felt  confused,  and  why  her  blood  seemed 
to  be  racing  tumultuously  through  her  veins  ;  it 
was  a  new  experience,  as  it  is  to  every  man  and 
woman  when  first  that  elemental  feeling,  un 
derlying  all  the  refinements  and  concealments 
of  modern  times,  makes  itself  apparent.  But  to 
Sylvia  it  was  only  a  vague  trouble  that  stirred 
her,  roused  by  the  passion  ready  to  spring  into 
force  that  was  swaying  Maurice.  He  knew  that 
it  was  not  yet  time  for  him,  and  with  an  effort 
which  drove  the  color  from  his  face,  he  walked 
again  to  the  window  and  stood  there,  willing 
himself  to  calmness.  The  silence  grew  unbear 
able,  and  Sylvia  broke  it. 

"  Let  us  avoid  personalities,"  she  said  in  her 
coldest  tone  ;  "  they  only  annoy  me  ;  besides,  I 
want  to  hear  more  of  La  Roche  ;  tell  me  a  little 
about  the  present  count ;  is  he  like  his  father  ?  " 

"  In  looks,  yes,"  answered  Maurice  shortly. 

"  Do  you  care  for  him  ?  Is  he  brave  as  well  as 
handsome  ?  " 

"  I  cannot  tell ;  we  are  not  making  history  to 
day  ;  we  have  no  chance  to  be  heroic." 

Maurice  still  stood  staring  out  of  the  window, 
and  his  voice  told  Sylvia  that  she  had  hurt  him. 


A    TRANSATLANTIC   CHATELAINE.  9o 

Collected  enough,  now  that  his  eyes  were  not 
burning  deep  into  her  soul,  she  tried  to  cure  the 
wound. 

"  I  found  a  new  road  this  afternoon,"  she  said 
tentatively.  He  made  no  reply.  "  It  was  too 
rough  for  the  carriage,  but  it  would  be  delicious 
to  ride  through."  Still  silence.  "  I  hate  to  ex 
plore  with  Jenkins,  he  grumbles  so  if  the  briars 
scratch  his  beautiful  hat ;  but  I  do  want  to  go 
down  that  lane.  Shall  you  be  too  busy,  Mon 
sieur  le  Capitaine,  to  ride  with  me  to-morrow  ?  " 

One  of  Sylvia's  charms  was  her  voice,  — 
rather  low  pitched,  it  had  at  times  the  effect  of 
a  caress,  so  velvet  soft  was  it.  Maurice  felt  his 
sensation  of  injury  stealing  away,  bewitched  by 
her  words.  He  knew  that  for  the  time  he  was 
as  wax  in  her  hands,  but  he  did  not  resent  the 
knowledge. 

"  Too  busy  ?  No  ;  you  know  that  nothing 
short  of  duty  would  keep  me  from  a  ride  with 
you.  Of  course  I  will  be  here  at  any  time  that 
you  say." 

"  Let  us  start  early  then,  in  the  cool  of  the 
morning.  Is  half  past  seven  too  soon  ?  " 

"  Not  a  second  too  soon  for  me." 

"  Then  it  is  settled,"  said  Sylvia.  "  And  now 
please  tell  me  a  little  more,  or  I  shall  think  that 
you  are  angry  with  me." 

He  leant  over  the  table  again,  looking  into  the 


96  A    TRANSATLANTIC    CHATELAINE. 

emerald's  depths.  "  I  can  only  see  the  old  cedar," 
he  said ;  "  it  is  to  me  the  spirit  of  the  whole 
place.  I  can  remember  all  my  old  dreams  as  I 
used  to  lie  beneath  it,  watching  the  glimpses  of 
deep  blue  sky  with  the  puffs  of  clouds  drifting 
over  it.  The  wind  tossing  among  its  hundred 
branches  sang  songs  of  the  seas  it  had  swept 
over  on  its  way  to  its  friend,  and  I  used  to  listen 
and  long  to  be  on  some  gallant  ship,  plunging 
through  furrowed  waves  to  far-off  lands.  I  lived 
in  the  old  crusader's  past,  and  followed  him  to 
the  holy  sepulchre  ;  I  felt  it  all  in  me  somehow ; 
I  was  a  part  of  it.  in  spite  of  my  being  only  an 
outsider,  the  son  of  almost  the  servant  of  the 
count.  I  cared  more  for  it,  a  hundred  times, 
than  Philippe  ever  did.  It  is  his  in  name,  but 
it  is  really  mine,  by  right  of  the  love  I  have 
for  it.  He  never  stood  with  his  cheek  against 
its  bark  trying  to  learn  its  secrets.  lie  never 
felt  as  though  he  were  in  some  great  dim  cathe 
dral  when  the  sun  set  behind  it,  and  every  cone, 
every  needle,  made  a  tracery  against  the  pulsing, 
quivering  colors  in  the  sky  more  beautiful  than 
any  stained  glass  window,  and  listened,  straining 
every  nerve  to  hear  but  one  echo  of  the  choir  in 
visible  chanting  somewhere." 

"  You  are  a  poet,"  said  Sylvia  softly. 

After  he  left  her,  through  the  evening  and 
far  into  the  night,  she  thought  of  what  he  had 


A    TRANSATLANTIC    CHATELAINE.  97 

told  her ;  his  words  had  appealed  to  her  imagi 
nation,  and  the  picture  of  the  old  chateau  and 
the  older  cedar  rose  vividly  before  her.  Mingled 
with  all  the  scenes  she  painted  to  herself  was 
the  hope  that  some  time  she  should  see  and 
know  the  owner  of  this  wonderful  place,  a  man 
with  the  blood  of  kings  in  his  veins.  Even  in 
sleep  she  dreamed  of  him,  the  unknown,  and  had 
scarcely  a  memory  to  give  to  Maurice,  who  found 
the  hours  all  too  long  that  kept  him  from  the 
woman  he  loved. 

The  next  morning  he  was  at  her  gate  punc 
tually  at  the  appointed  time,  where  her  English 
coachman  stood  holding  her  horse,  while  her 
groom,  in  all  the  glory  of  the  last  fashion  in 
liver}r,  controlled  his  own  mount.  He  had  not 
long  to  wait ;  a  light  step  on  the  path,  and  Sylvia 
was  coming  towards  him,  dawn's  rosy  touch  on 
her  cheek.  There  are  few  times  when  a  young 
and  pretty  woman  looks  more  entirely  charming 
than  in  the  early  morning,  and  Sylvia  had  never 
captivated  Maurice  more  than  now.  Her  color 
was  glowing,  her  eyes  had  the  dewy  look  that 
tells  of  past  child-like  sleep,  and  her  whole  ap 
pearance  was  one  of  freshness  and  sweetness. 
Her  habit  made  her  seem  slighter  and  more  girl 
ish  than  her  usual  dress,  and  the  simple  round 
hat  gave  her  a  very  youthful  look. 

She    greeted    Maurice    cordially,    and    after 


98  A    TRANSATLANTIC    CHATELAINE. 

stroking  her  horse's  shining  neck,  and  giving 
a  knowing  glance  at  her  saddle  and  stirrup, 
put  her  little  foot  in  his  hand  and  rose  like  a 
bird  to  its  perch. 

"You  need  not  go  this  morning,  Jenkins," 
she  said  to  her  groom  as  he  prepared  to  follow. 

"  Very  good,  madam,"  answered  that  worthy, 
and  he  stood  by  his  superior,  watching  the 
riders  disappear,  and  wondering  by  what  trick 
a  "  Frenchy "  managed  to  look  as  though  he 
were  a  good  horseman.  It  never  occurred  to 
either  British  brain  that  Monsieur  Regnier  was 
really  as  much  at  home  on  a  horse  as  any  fox- 
hunter  in  the  United  Kingdom  ;  indeed,  they  had 
once  wisely  remarked  to  each  other  after  having 
seen  him  win  a  bet  by  putting  a  balky  horse 
over  a  four-barred  gate,  mounted  on  a  saddle 
with  neither  strap  nor  stirrup  :  "  'T  ain't  nothin' 
but  a  bloody  balancing  trick  he's  got,  any'ovv." 

But  Sylvia,  not  sharing  her  servants'  race 
prejudice,  admired  Maurice's  skill  and  tact  with 
horses,  and  she  spoke  of  it  this  morning  as  they 
slowly  passed  the  sleepy-looking  villas,  before 
they  gained  the  open  country. 

"  Who  taught  you  to  ride  ?  You  have  not  only 
ease,  but  such  knowledge.  I  am  always  won 
dering  at  it." 

"  The  Count  de  La  Roche  put  Philippe  and 
me  on  ponies  when  our  legs  were  so  short  that 


A    TRANSATLANTIC    CHATELAINE.  99 

they  stuck  straight  out,  and  we  could  not  have 
used  stirrups  if  they  had  been  allowed." 

"  Then  the  young  count  rides  as  well  as  you  ?  " 

"  Exactly,"  answered  Maurice. 

Before  long  the  road  led  them  over  one  of 
those  wide  stretches  of  plain  so  characteristic 
of  Normandy.  The  larks  were  mounting  into 
the  blue  sky,  leaving  a  wake  of  ecstatic  melody 
behind  them ;  the  breeze  came  brisk  and  fresh 
from  the  sea ;  it  was  a  day  made  by  the  Lord 
to  rejoice  and  be  glad  in.  Both  Maurice  and 
Sylvia  were  happy  for  different  reasons,  and  in 
different  ways.  She  was  spontaneously,  uncon 
sciously  merry,  because  everything  was  beautiful, 
her  horse  suited  her,  health  and  strength  made 
mere  breathing  delightful,  and  for  the  time  life 
was  a  pleasure.  He,  on  the  contrary,  felt  that 
his  present  bliss  was  too  lightly  held  to  give 
more  than  a  tremulous  joy  that  was  half  pain. 
He  was  laying  his  all  at  her  feet;  would  she 
stoop  and  take  it,  or  spurn  it  ? 

They  had  been  trotting  briskly  over  an  open 
field,  and  presently  the  track  they  had  fol 
lowed  dipped  into  a  sudden  lane,  and  the  horses 
fell  into  a  walk  as  they  descended  the  slope. 
"There,  isn't  this  lovely?  This  is  the  road  I 
told  you  of,"  said  Sylvia,  looking  into  Maurice's 
eyes. 

She  was  not  troubled  by  them  to-day,  though 


100          A    TRANSATLANTIC    CHATELAINE. 

they  had  lost  none  of  their  intensity.  She  felt 
free  on  horseback,  for  it  would  be  so  easy  to  cut 
short  an  embarrassing  remark  by  a  change  of 
gait;  she  reflected  sagely  that  no  one  could 
attempt  love-making  in  the  course  of  a  sharp 
trot.  But  her  very  sense  of  security  was  her 
danger,  and  as  they  plunged  yet  deeper  into  the 
shady,  stony  lane  she  found  herself  forced  to 
listen  to  those  words  of  love,  strong  when  sin 
cere,  with  a  strength  almost  divine. 

"  Sylvia,"  said  Maurice,  bending  that  he 
might  better  see  her,  "  do  you  not  know  how  it 
is  with  me  ?  Surely  you  have  guessed  a  little  of 
the  love  I  have  for  you ;  but  no  one  can  tell  it 
all.  I  am  yours  ;  take  me  or  leave  me,  body  and 
soul.  To  me  you  mean  everything  that  is  holy 
and  beautiful  and  noble.  Tell  me,  Sylvia,  that 
there  is  hope  for  me !  " 

His  voice  trembled,  and  his  face  was  white 
with  the  power  of  his  passion.  Sylvia  was 
touched  by  its  force ;  she,  too,  became  pale. 
For  one  moment  she  felt  a  fleeting  regret  that 
love  was  not  for  her ;  that  she  had  resolved  to 
renounce  it ;  her  voice  shook  as  she  answered : 

"  Please  do  not  say  such  things  ;  we  are  so 
happy  as  we  are,  why  do  you  spoil  it  all  ?  " 

"  Heaven  knows  I  don't  want  to  spoil  it  —  I 
want  to  perfect  it.  You  have  no  idea  what  real 
love  means ;  let  me  teach  you,  Sylvia." 


A    TRANSATLANTIC    CHATELAINE.  101 

Her  head  drooped  a  little.  She  would  have 
liked  to  play  with  the  new  sensation  sweeping 
over  her,  —  a  sensation  as  of  being  borne  on  an 
irresistible  tide  ;  but  she  was  too  innately  honor 
able  to  deceive  even  for  a  second.  "  I  owe  you 
truthfulness,"  she  said ;  "  and  since  you  have 
shown  me  your  heart,  I  will  show  you  mine: 
love  is  not  for  me ;  I  do  not  wish  it ;  I  shrink 
from  it.  Maurice,  I  shall  never  marry  any  man 
who  cannot  put  me  among  the  really  great  of 
this  world ;  my  ambition  is  high,  and  I  am  cold 
as  ice  to  everything  else.  I  like  you  better  than 
any  one  I  have  ever  known,  but  even  you  cannot 
stir  me,  for  what  could  you  give  me  in  return 
for  the  sacrifice  I  should  have  to  make  to  marry 
you?  Nothing,  nothing." 

"  I  could  give  you  a  stainless  name,  and 
a  love  an  empress  might  envy,"  he  retorted 
haughtily,  "  and  you  call  them  nothing.  You 
are  a  child,  Sylvia,  and  you  do  not  know  what 
you  have  decided  to  renounce.  Is  it  nothing  to 
know  that  there  is  in  this  cold,  careless  world 
one  heart  that  is  yours  for  weal  or  woe  ?  one 
person  to  whom  old  age  would  only  draw  you 
closer  ?  Is  it  nothing  to  you,  my  darling,  that  I 
am  ready  to  die  for  you  ?  Oh,  if  I  only  had  the 
power  to  make  you  understand  how  I  worship 
you.  Everything  else  fades  beside  you,  my 
pearl  among  women.  I  cannot  believe  you 


102          A    TRANSATLANTIC    CHATELAINE. 

will  send  me  from  you.  Tell  me,  Sylvia,  must 
I  go?" 

His  voice  had  grown  soft  and  pleading. 
Against  her  will  and  judgment  she  felt  herself 
stirred  and  uncertain ;  nature  was  beginning  to 
awaken  the  heart  that  had  slept  its  cold  sleep 
unstirred  until  now.  Maurice's  hand  was  on 
her  pommel,  his  face  close  to  hers ;  he  was 
strong  and  beautiful,  like  a  young  Greek ; 
woman-like  she  temporized. 

"  But  you  must  not  go  away  just  because  I 
will  not  love  you?  " 

t%  Yes,  by  the  Lord  who  made  me,  I  must. 
Do  you  think  I  am  not  flesh  and  blood  ?  Do 
you  suppose  I  could  endure  to  dangle  about  you, 
fetch  and  carry  like  your  dog,  and  see  some 
other  man  win  you  with  his  title  ?  I  am  not 
made  of  the  stuff  to  bear  such  a  strain.  Tell 
me  there  is  no  hope  for  me,  and  I  will  never 
willingly  let  my  eyes  rest  on  you  again  ;  whisper 
one  word  to  me,  and  I  am  your  slave." 

Nature  was  busy  at  her  work ;  the  sleeping 
heart  stirred  and  throbbed.  Sylvia  blushed 
divinely. 

"  Maurice,"  she  murmured,  and  then  stopped. 

"Yes,  yes,  my  darling  —  what  is -it?"  he 
answered  eagerly. 

"  You  hurry  me  so  I  am  confused  ;  let  me 
have  a  week,  or  a  month,  and  then  —  perhaps 
-  there  will  be  something  to  tell  you." 


.4    TRANSATLANTIC    CHATELAINE.  103 

"  Oh,  Sylvia,  Sylvia,  God  bless  you  for  that 
promise." 

"  It  is  not  a  promise,"  she  said  hastily ;  "  it 
is  only  a  suggestion  or  perhaps  a  hope  of  what 
may  never  be." 

"  I  will  give  you  a  week,  but  don't  be  too 
cruel,  don't  make  it  longer.  Shan't  I  see  you 
all  that  time  ?  "  he  added  disconsolately. 

"No,"  she  answered,  growing  more  mistress 
of  herself. 

"  But  I  shall  be  near  you,"  he  broke  in ;  "  I 
cannot  leave  Trouville ;  even  you  would  not  be 
cruel  enough  to  insist  on  that." 

"  I  cannot  dictate  to  you  where  to  go  —  only 
I  must  have  time  to  think  it  all  out.  I  have  told 
you,  Maurice,  my  souFs  thoughts  this  morning. 
I  could  not  have  believed  it  possible  that  I  could 
speak  to  any  one  of  what  is  almost  my  religion 
—  my  desire  to  be  high  and  noble  and  powerful ; 
to  lead  a  winning,  or  if  it  must  be  a  lost  cause ; 
but  at  all  events  to  give  myself  up  to  great  things. 
If  I  abandoned  my  ambition  it  is  because  you 
have  really  roused  me  to  love  you.  Just  now  I 
feel  that  I  do,  but  I  do  not  trust  myself.  I  will 
take  my  week  for  thought,  and  whichever  way  I 
decide,  believe  me,  dear  Maurice,  it  will  be  done 
honestly." 

Her  lip  quivered,  and  two  tears  welled  up 
into  her  eyes ;  she  had  lost  her  nerve,  and  she 


104          A    TRANSATLANTIC    CHATELAINE. 

did  not  understand  the  sensation.  Maurice  had 
not  gained  all  he  hoped  for,  but  neither  was  he 
left  hopeless ;  his  heart  was  on  his  face  as  he 
leaned  closer  to  her. 

"  Just  one  kiss,  my  darling,  my  pearl,  before 
this  parting,"  he  pleaded.  She  swayed  towards 
him,  and  then  drew  back. 

"  No,  Maurice,  no,"  she  answered.  "  It  seems 
like  binding  myself,  and  I  must  be  free." 

"  Oh,  if  you  knew  how  mad  with  love  I  am, 
you  would  pity  me,"  he  exclaimed.  "  It  is  such 
a  little  thing  I  ask,  but  it  means  heaven  to 
me." 

"  Listen,"  she  said,  "  I  promise  you  a  kiss  the 
next  time  we  meet  after  the  week.  Either  it 
will  mean  good-by  forever,  or  it  will  tell  you  I 
love  you  as  entirely  as  you  do  me." 

As  she  spoke  she  gathered  up  her  reins  that 
had  been  pulled  through  her  unheeding  fingers 
by  her  horse's  efforts  to  nibble  the  grass  by 
the  roadside,  and  the  animal,  feeling  her  touch, 
lifted  his  head  and  started  forward.  Maurice 
followed,  but  half  satisfied,  and  almost  without 
another  word  they  trotted  rapidly  back. 

Flora  Lee-Blair  was  in  her  room,  overlooking 
the  entrance,  when  she  heard  the  beat  of  the 
horses'  hoofs,  and  leaving  her  cup  of  tea,  she  went 
towards  the  window.  She  was  in  her  most  be 
coming  wrapper,  and  had  no  intention  of  spying 


A    TRANSATLANTIC    CHATELAINE.         105 

without  being  seen,  but  neither  of  the  two  at 
the  gate  gave  her  a  glance.  She  saw  Maurice 
swing  himself  to  the  ground,  and  throwing  his 
bridle  reins  to  the  waiting  groom,  go  to  Sylvia's 
side.  She  saw  her  turn  in  her  saddle,  place  her 
hands  on  his  shoulder,  arid  let  him  lift  her  down. 
If  they  spoke  she  could  not  have  heard,  being 
too  far  off,  but  what  she  saw  told  her  much. 
Sylvia  had  never  run  away  from  saying  good- 
by  before,  with  her  face  held  down  as  if  she 
were  trying  to  hide  her  blushes,  leaving  her 
horse  without  the  carrot  with  which  she  gener 
ally  rewarded  him,  and  parting  from  her  com 
panion  without  a  touch  of  the  hand  or  a  word. 
For  a  moment  Flora  hoped  it  was  the  result  of 
a  quarrel,  a  refusal  perhaps,  but  one  glance  at 
Maurice's  face,  as  he  stood  gazing  towards  the 
house,  robbed  her  of  this  comforting  theory. 

Her  life  had  made  it  necessary  for  her  to 
use  her  wits,  and  she  had  become  used  to  study 
ing  faces,  manners,  and  expressions,  to  see  if  by 
some  chance  gain  might  come  to  her  through 
a  side  door.  Her  long  experience  in  knocking 
about  the  world  had  taught  her  much  that 
her  own  quickness  of  mind  easily  assimilated. 
Among  other  secrets,  it  had  told  her  how  to 
know  the  signs  of  a  true  love,  —  signs  which 
had  never  failed  her.  She  cast  her  mind  back 
unconsciously,  recalling  how  she  had  helped  an 


106          A    TRANSATLANTIC    CHATELAINE. 

influential  woman  to  hoodwink  her  husband,  by 
boldly  taking  a  prominent  part  in  a  family  com 
edy  that,  but  for  her,  would  have  turned  into  a 
tragedy,  her  only  authority  being  her  reading  of 
the  wife's  bearing  and  looks.  That  would  have 
meant  continual  patronage  for  poor  Flora,  but 
for  the  unfortunate  event  of  the  blissfully  igno 
rant  husband's  death,  after  which  his  widow  had 
promptly  married  the  man  whom  she  had  loved 
for  years,  and  given  a  very  cold  shoulder  to  her 
late  ally. 

She  had  never  so  far  been  mistaken  in  her 
diagnosis  of  the  tender  passion,  and  her  heart 
sank  at  the  memory  of  the  two  faces  at  the  gate. 
She  was  a  woman  of  action ;  she  must  probe 
the  affair  as  deep  as  possible,  and  at  once ;  so 
she  stepped  on  to  the  landing  of  the  stairs,  just 
in  time  to  meet  Sylvia  as  she  ran  up  to  her 
room. 

"  Well,  early  bird,  did  you  enjoy  your  ride  ?  " 
she  asked  with  fictitious  gayety. 

"  Yes,  thanks,"  said  Sylvia,  her  hand  on  her 
own  door-handle.  "  I  adore  to  be  out  in  the  air 
before  all  the  world  is  up,  and  can  claim  their 
share  in  it.  Are  there  any  engagements  for  to 
day  ?  I  want  to  know  what  dress  to  tell  Justine 
about." 

It  was  very  well  done,  thought  Flora,  this  in 
different  attitude,  this  calhi  bravado  which  acted 


A    TRANSATLANTIC    CHATELAINE.          107 

as  if  there  were  nothing  to  hide  ;  but  there  was 
an  inward  light  shining  through  Sylvia's  eyes, 
as  if  a  pure  white  flame  had  been  lighted  in  her 
heart  that  no  amount  of  acting  could  quench. 
That  she  was  in  love  was  sure  ;  so  Flora  decided 
dolefully,  once  more  in  her  own  room.  In  a  case 
like  this,  love  meant  marriage  ;  there  was  no 
thing  to  prevent  it ;  Sylvia  could  do  as  she 
liked ;  the  young  cavalry  officer  was  handsome, 
clever,  and  would  attract  nine  women  out  of  ten. 
He  knew  every  one  worth  knowing,  although 
he  seemed  very  indifferent  regarding  the  world 
of  society.  He  was  terribly  honest  too ;  he  had 
allowed  Mrs.  Lee-Blair  to  see  that  he  did  not 
like  her,  that  her  powder,  her  black  curls,  her 
little  coquetries  were  all  the  reverse  of  attrac 
tive  to  him,  and  in  return  she  had  shown  a 
marked  disposition  to  snub  him,  and  to  make 
him  see  how  little  she  valued  his  opinion.  She 
had  been  deceived  in  Sylvia ;  that  was  it.  She 
had  fancied  that  the  words  she  at  times  let  fall 
about  nobility,  and  high-standing,  meant  the  de 
sire  to  marry  a  titled  man ;  it  seemed  that  it 
only  meant  the  stupid,  abstract  qualities,  and 
the  girl  was  fool  enough  to  think  that  Maurice 
liegnier  represented  these  things,  just  because 
he  had  a  reputation  for  bravery.  If  these  horri 
ble  suspicions  proved  true,  Flora  was  hopelessly 
ruined  financially-  She  cast  a  frightened  glance 


108    A  TRANSATLANTIC  CHATELAINE. 

at  her  toilet-table,  which  was  strewn  with  her 
last  purchase,  a  set  of  apparently  numberless 
brushes  and  combs  and  boxes  of  ivory,  with 
solid  gold  monograms  inlaid  on  their  backs ;  a 
circle  of  diamonds  was  on  her  wrist ;  her  ward 
robes  were  filled  to  overflowing  with  expensive 
dresses  ;  over  the  foot  of  the  bed  hung  a  night 
dress,  —  and  the  money  for  the  Valenciennes 
ruffles  which  trimmed  it,  and  its  twenty-three 
companions,  would  have  formerly  dressed  her 
for  two  years. 

And  she  owed  for  almost  everything ! 

Her  first  association  with  large  sums  of  money 
had  gone  to  her  head  ;  intoxicated  by  the  novelty 
of  her  increased  income,  she  had  blindly  ordered 
anything  that  struck  her  fancy,  rushing  into  debt 
on  all  sides,  and  soothing  any  uneasiness  by  re 
minding  herself  how  infinitely  less  she  spent  than 
Sylvia.  Now  a  moment's  glimpse  of  two  faces 
had  affected  her  like  a  cataract  of  water  falling 
on  her;  she  was  stunned  and  frightened. 

"•  Something  must  be  done  —  something  must 
be  done,"  she  said  over  and  over  to  herself.  But 
what  was  this  potent  something  ? 

It  was  like  a  nightmare  to  picture  going  back 
to  the  old  life  of  shifts  and  shabby  economies. 
She  could  not,  once  having  known  the  full  ex 
tent  of  luxury,  and  how  much  it  meant  to  her. 
Besides,  those  horrible  debts !  Could  they  im- 


A    TRANSATLANTIC   CHATELAINE.          109 

prison  her  for  them  ?  she  wondered.  Anything 
but  that ;  she  would  never  be  able  to  bear  the 
disgrace  of  it ;  but  what  could  she  do  ? 

Her  hand  trembled,  her  head  swam ;  she  un 
screwed  a  silver-mounted  flask,  poured  out  a  stiff 
dose  of  its  contents,  and  swallowed  it  without 
winking  ;  it  warmed  her  and  gave  her  courage. 

"  Cheer  up,"  she  said  to  herself.  "  All 's  not 
lost  yet.  Let 's  see  if  for  once  the  British  brain 
cannot  accomplish  something,  in  spite  of  their 
jeers  at  our  obtuseness." 


CHAPTER  V. 

WHEN  Maurice  entered  the  hotel  after  having 
left  Sylvia,  his  first  idea  was  to  write  and  beg 
her  to  reconsider  her  decision,  which  seemed  to 
him  at  that  moment  unbearable  ;  but  he  was 
not  able  to  carry  out  this  most  undiplomatic  plan, 
for  in  his  salon,  waiting  to  see  him,  sat  the  Count 
de  La  Roche. 

They  had  scarcely  met  for  six  years,  and 
Maurice  felt  the  glad  color  rush  to  his  face  as 
he  greeted  the  man  whose  name  meant  so  much 
to  him.  The  lapse  of  time  erased  the  memory 
of  boyish  disagreements  and  uncongenial  charac 
teristics  ;  he  only  saw  before  him  the  son  of  his 
father's  benefactor,  and  of  his  own  hero  ;  also 
the  head  of  a  house  which  he  revered  and  loved. 
Here  was  the  Philippe  whom  he  had  envied  in  his 
generous  way,  and  looked  up  to  with  that  respect 
only  given  by  one  boy  to  another  who  is  a  little 
his  senior.  Philippe  had  been  the  straightest 
rider,  the  surest  shot,  and  the  champion  in  all 
athletic  games ;  and  as  Maurice  gave  him  a 
frank,  hearty  welcome  he  still  felt  the  old  sen 
sation  of  tho  other's  superiority. 


A    TRANSATLANTIC    CHATELAINE.  Ill 

Although  only  two  years  younger,  Maurice 
had  still  at  twenty-seven  the  unrestrained  enthu 
siasm  of  youth ;  he  might  equal  the  other  now 
in  all  outside  accomplishments,  but  Philippe 
always  kept  ahead.  His  manner  made  Maurice 
conscious  of  a  certain  rawness  in  himself,  as  he 
accepted  the  welcome  so  warmly  proffered  with 
the  greatest  ease  and  charm,  but  with  a  slight 
restraint. 

Without  being  exactly  handsome,  Philippe  de 
La  Roche  was  one  of  those  men  who  attract 
attention  by  that  harmony  of  details,  that  weld 
ing  together  of  the  whole,  which  bestows  the 
mark  of  birth  upon  the  possessor.  Not  as  tall  as 
Maurice,  although  of  good  height,  he  was  finely 
proportioned  ;  his  physical  condition  was  perfect, 
and  his  powerful  muscles  were  visible,  to  an  eye 
trained  to  look  for  such  things,  under  his  light 
summer  suit.  His  thick,  close-cut  hair  had  a 
rich  chestnut  tinge,  and  his  heavy  moustache  was 
decidedly  red  ;  it  overshadowed  his  well-shaped, 
full,  curving  lips,  and  rendered  inconspicuous  his 
large  gleaming  teeth  until  he  laughed  ;  then  they 
were  easily  seen.  His  forehead  was  rather  low, 
and  square  ;  his  eyes  of  a  brown  topaz  color,  a 
curious  shade,  that  caught  the  rays  of  light  and 
seemed  to  hold  them  in  restless  discontent.  In 
spite  of  a  superabundant  look  of  robustness,  the 
air  of  race  was  clearly  visible,  accentuated  by 


112          A    TRANSATLANTIC   CHATELAINE. 

the  fine  lines  of  his  nostrils,  and  his  well-formed 
hands  and  feet.  With  nothing  of  the  exquisite 
or  dandy  about  him,  he  was  perfectly  appointed  ; 
after  the  observer  had  perceived  his  virility  and 
breeding,  he  noticed  the  delicate  finish  of  every 
"detail  of  his  dress. 

He  answered  all  of  Maurice's  inquiries  in  a 
courteous  but  absent-minded  way  as  if  waiting 
for  the  right  moment  to  introduce  some  partic 
ular  subject.  His  voice,  which  was  one  of  his 
chief  attractions,  rich,  low  pitched,  and  with  a 
quality  that  at  times  thrilled  his  listener,  seemed 
veiled  ;  but  the  only  sign  that  he  gave  of  any 
lack  of  ease  was  the  nervous  haste  with  which  he 
smoked  one  cigarette  after  another  in  rapid  suc 
cession.  His  movements  were  as  a  rule  delib 
erate  ;  he  had  none  of  the  vivacity  common  to 
his  countrymen,  his  eyes  being  the  only  restless 
thing  about  him,  suggesting  that  his  quiet  man 
ner  might  be  assumed. 

As  he  tossed  away  the  end  of  a  cigarette,  he 
broke  in,  almost  interrupting  a  remark  of  his 
companion,  "  Maurice,  I  am  in  trouble." 

His  voice  and  manner  gave  added  weight  to 
his  words. 

"  I  have  come  to  you  —  for  help  if  you  can 
give  it,  for  advice  at  all  events." 

"  I  will  do  my  best  for  you,"  said  Maurice,  sud 
denly  grave.  "  What  is  it  —  money  ?  or  honor?  " 


A    TRANSATLANTIC    CHATELAINE.          113 

"  Both,"  answered  Philippe.  "  I  mean  that 
unless  I  can  get  the  money  I  am  ruined." 

"  How  much  must  you  have  ?  " 

Philippe  drew  his  hand  down  over  his  mous 
tache,  and  held  it  there,  concealing  his  mouth  ; 
no  one  looking  at  him,  however  closely,  could 
have  seen  if  the  hidden  lips  quivered ;  no  one 
would  have  divined  any  deep  emotion  from  hear 
ing  the  level  tones  of  his  musical  voice  as  he 
replied,  "  A  hundred  thousand  francs,  and  at 
once." 

"  The  devil !  "  exclaimed  Maurice  with  a  long 
whistle. 

"  I  know,  I  know  it  all,"  burst  out  the  count 
with  unexpected  vehemence.  "  It  is  a  fearful 
sum  to  hold  out  your  hand  for  like  a  beggar. 
But  what  can  I  do  ?  Think  of  my  name.  Every 
generation  has  added  to  its  age  and  nobility. 
Can  I  bear  myself  like  a  de  La  Roche  on  my 
miserable  income?  What  is  open  to  me?  I 
will  not  serve  in  the  army  under  a  government 
headed  by  a  canaille.  Trade,  commerce,  every 
profession  is  forbidden  me.  How  can  I  be  ex 
pected  to  live  as  my  father  lived,  on  half  the 
money  ?  Forgive  me,  Maurice,"  he  interrupted 
himself ;  "  I  am  beside  myself  with  anxiety.  I 
should  never  have  alluded  to  that  —  forget  it." 

Maurice  flushed  ;  for  the  first  time  his  father's 
inheritance  seemed  a  burden.  Until  now  he  had 


114  .4    TRANSATLANTIC    (JHATKLA1NK. 

gloried  in  the  friendly  generosity  of  the  former 
count,  but  Philippe's  words  made  him  feel  like 
a  pensioner,  and  galled  him  with  a  sense  of  de 
pendence. 

"You  meant  nothing,  of  course,"  he  said  a 
trifle  awkwardly. 

Philippe  continued  :  "  I  would  do  anything  to 
make  money  enough  to  support  the  old  place.  I 
can't  give  that  up  —  my  God,  Maurice,  I  can't !  " 

"  You  must  not  think  of  such  a  possibility." 

"No,  rather  than  that  I  will  go  to  another 
country,  sink  the  name,  work  like  a  slave,  and 
only  come  home  to  die  where  my  father  died. 
How  he  loved  you,  Maurice." 

The  voice  broke  now  ;  he  bent  his  head  on  his 
folded  arms. 

There  was  as  much  fascination  about  him  in 
this  hour  of  abandonment  as  in  his  usual  atti 
tude  of  superiority ;  perhaps  even  more  so  to 
Maurice,  whose  quick  sympathies  and  lively  im 
agination  filled  in  the  lines  sketched  by  the 
count's  words.  A  picture  of  Philippe  as  a  little 
fellow  flashed  into  his  mind  :  he  sawr  him  perched 
on  the  back  of  a  pony,  his  yellow  curls  bobbing 
under  his  wide  hat,  his  chubby,  vigorous  legs 
clinging  to  his  charger's  sides  as  it  cantered  over 
a  broad  green  field  ;  he  saw  the  light  in  the  old 
count's  face  as  he  watched  him  ;  he  heard  the 
tenderness  and  pride  in  his  voice  as  he  said  to 


.-1    TRANSATLANTIC    CHATELAINE.  115 

Monsieur  Regnier,  who  stood  beside  him,  "  That 's 
a  boy  worth  living  for,  eh,  Armand  ?  " 

And  here  sat  his  son,  bowed  under  the  bur 
den  of  a  threatened  disgrace.  Maurice  drew  his 
hand  across  his  eyes. 

"  That  must  not  be  even  thought  of,"  he  said. 
"  Now  let  us  be  practical.  Have  you  no  one 
who  can  help  you  out  ?" 

"  No^"  returned  Philippe,  raising  his  head ; 
"  no  one.  The  only  person  I  might  turn  to  is 
out  of  the  question." 

"  You  mean  my  father  ?  " 

"  Yes  ;  I  will  never  ask  a  favor  of  a  man  who 
might  feel  bound  to  grant  it." 

"  Then  let  me  ask  it  for  you." 

"  No,  no,  Maurice,  my  dear  boy,  that  is  too 
much  for  you  to  do." 

"  And  why  ?  Don't  we  owe  everything  to 
your  father  ?  are  we  not  bound  to  your  family 
by  a  hundred  ties  ?  " 

A  strange  gleam,  almost  of  amusement,  and 
inexplicable  to  Maurice,  flashed  across  Philippe's 
face  before  he  answered.  "No,  your  father 
would  refuse.  In  his  quiet  life  he  cannot  real 
ize  my  obligations  ;  he  will  never  do  it." 

"  He  will  if  I  ask  him ;  he  has  never  refused 
me  anything !  "  answered  Maurice  hotly. 

"  He  will  this." 

"  I  pledge  you  my  word  that  he  shall  not." 


110          A    TRANSATLANTIC    CHATELAINE. 

As  he  spoke  he  held  out  his  hand  :  the  count 
took  it  in  his  firm  clasp. 

"  I  know  what  that  means.  I  can  sleep  to 
night.  You  are  just  what  I  expected  to  find 
you,  a  true  friend,"  he  added  simply. 

"  You  say  you  must  have  the  money  di 
rectly  ?  "  asked  Maurice,  his  thoughts  reverting 
to  Sylvia.  Good-by  to  all  the  sadly  sweet  alle 
viations  he  had  promised  himself  during  this 
week  of  banishment  from  her  presence  ;  good-by 
to  the  hours  he  had  dreamed  of  spending  .under 
her  window,  rewarded  by  a  gleam  of  her  candle 
behind  the  curtains  ;  good-by  to  the  contraband 
glimpses  he  might  have  caught  of  her,  to  the 
doubtful  joy  of  hearing  her  spoken  of  by  others  : 
duty,  friendship,  gratitude,  and  the  honor  of  the 
name  he  loved  called  him  away,  and  at  once. 

"  Yes,  or  it  may  be  too  late,"  answered  Phi 
lippe.  "  Ah,  my  boy,  it  seems  a  very  simple 
thing  at  first  not  to  get  into  money  complica 
tions  ;  your  father  will  doubtless  call  me  extrav 
agant  and  reckless  ;  but  you  know,  as  he  in  his 
quiet  life  cannot,  how  impossible  it  is  for  me  to 
refuse  to  meet  the  men  of  my  set  at  play.  Can 
I  allow  a  fellow  like  de  Sainville  to  say  I  dare 
not  give  him  his  revenge  ?  And  if  I  begin  to 
lose,  I  can't  call  the  game  off.  Ah,  these  days 
are  not  like  those  when  he  and  my  father  were 
young  ;  now  a  louis  does  half  what  it  did  then, 


.1    TRANSATLANTIC    CHATELAINE.  117 

and  double  is  required  of  a  man  in  my  posi 
tion." 

Maurice,  with  the  sympathy  of  youth  for 
youth,  agreed  heartily.  Although  he  kept  within 
the  limits  of  his  own  ample  allowance,  having 
been  educated  with  a  horror  of  debt,  he  knew 
that  the  count  would  consider  this  but  a  bour 
geois  virtue,  and  he  had  seen  enough  of  the 
world  to  be  aware  of  the  large  demands  on  a 
man  in  Philippe's  set,  one  of  the  fastest  and 
most  extravagant  in  that  age  of  dissipation  and 
extravagance.  In  his  eyes  this  last  member  of 
the  de  La  Roche  family  was  most  royal.  If  he 
had  vices,  as  doubtless  he  had,  were  they  not 
the  outcome  of  his  inheritance  ?  It  would  have 
seemed  ignoble  to  bind  down  to  dry  rules  a  man 
in  whose  lusty  veins  the  blood  of  the  old  An 
gevin  counts  ran  riot.  "  But,"  said  Maurice, 
referring  to  Philippe's  last  words,  "  we  live  to 
day,  and  must  make  the  best  of  it." 

The  count  rose  and  moved  about  the  room. 

"  How  *I  hate  these  modern  bonds  and 
shackles  !  "  he  exclaimed.  "  I  was  not  meant  to 
be  tied  down  to  conventionalities.  What  would 
my  old  ancestors  have  done  in  my  place  ?  They, 
lucky  dogs,  would  have  attacked  a  neighboring 
baron,  sacked  a  monastery,  taken  a  walled  town  ; 
and  then  they  would  have  enjoyed  the  fruits  of 
a  glorious  warfare.  What  am  I  told  to  do  ? 


118          A    TRANSATLANTIC    CHATELAINE. 

Fight,  conquer,  work  even  ?  —  and  I  would,  God 
knows,  if  I  had  the  chance,  —  no,  all  these  doors 
are  shut,  and  the  only  one  open  is  that  of  mar 
riage.  A  rich  wife  well  dowered  has  grown 
to  be  a  regular  parrot  -  cry  with  my  mother. 
Pshaw  !  the  idea  is  disgusting." 

To  Maurice,  in  the  fresh  dawn  of  his  love  for 
Sylvia,  it  seemed  a  profanation.  "  It  is  degrad 
ing/'  he  agreed  warmly.  "  Don't  marry  a  woman 
you  can't  love,  Philippe." 

"  I  don't  intend  to  marry  at  all  if  I  can  live 
without  it,"  said  the  count  dryly.  He  perceived 
from  Maurice's  tone  that  they  were  not  looking 
at  the  question  in  the  same  way. 

Maurice  took  out  his  watch.  "  I  must  be 
making  my  arrangements,"  he  said,  "  for  my 
train  leaves  at  three.  I  have  some  notes  to 
write,"  he  added  ;  for  he  felt  that  he  must  be 
alone  so  as  to  send  a  message  of  farewell  to 
Sylvia. 

"  Then  I  will  go  to  my  rooms."  said  Philippe. 
"You  will  breakfast  with  me,  of  course?" 

"  Thanks." 

De  La  Roche  put  his  hands  on  Maurice's 
shoulder,  and  for  a  second  his  roving  eyes  set 
tled  on  the  other's  face. 

"  You  have  done  for  me  more  than  I  can 
acknowledge,"  he  began. 

Maurice  interrupted  him.     "  Please  leave  all 


A    TRANSATLANTIC    CHATELAINE.          119 

that  alone.  I  understand  you,  and,  Philippe,  I 
thank  you  for  your  frankness  and  friendliness 
to  me." 

The  count's  heavy  lids  drooped  under  Regnier's 
warm,  open  glance,  and  he  turned  abruptly  away. 

When  he  reached  his  own  apartment,  he 
called  for  his  valet,  "  Marcel !  "  almost  before 
he  had  closed  the  door.  There  was  no  answer. 
He  looked  into  his  bedroom  and  dressing-room, 
finding  them  empty.  There  came  into  his  face 
a  shade  of  worry,  quickly  replaced  by  a  look  of 
triumph.  He  went  to  the  fireplace,  and,  leaning 
his  elbows  on  the  mantelpiece,  gazed  fixedly  at 
himself  in  the  glass.  He  smiled  as  if  in  con 
gratulation  at  his  image,  and  there  was  a  foxy 
expression  of  cunning  as  his  lips  raised  slightly 
at  the  corners. 

"  I  don't  look  like  a  man  who  has  been  up 
all  night,"  he  thought,  marking  the  clearness  of 
his  eyes,  and  the  fresh  glow  of  health  on  his 
cheek.  "  Still,  I  am  not  quite  as  I  used  to  be. 
I  don't  sleep  as  well ;  I  am  getting  nervous. 
This  sort  of  thing  must  stop,  by  Jove  !  It 's 
growing  monotonous,  and  it  will  end  by  making 
me  old." 

He  left  the  mirror,  and  sat  down  at  his 
writing-table,  carefully  arranged  by  the  absent 
Marcel  with  regard  to  comfort.  Philippe  loved 
thoroughness,  and  paid  minute  attention  to  de- 


120          .1    TRANSATLANTIC    CHATELAINE. 

tail.  It  was  a  pleasure  to  him  to  write  a  letter 
in  his  bold,  clear  hand,  on  suitable  paper ;  to 
fold  it  accurately,  and  to  seal  the  envelope  with 
nicety.  *  He  used  his  well-shaped  hands  dex 
terously,  with  no  hesitation,  no  fumbling.  He 
always  knew  what  he  wanted  and  where  to  find 
it,  with  the  one  exception  of  money  —  he  did  not 
always  know  where  that  \vas  to  be  found.  With 
a  different  education  this  man  might  have  made 
a  mark  in  the  world  ;  he  had  more  than  the 
average  quantity  and  quality  of  brains ;  he  pos 
sessed  a  determined  will.  Had  he  been  taught 
to  exercise  this  will  in  conquering  these  impulses 
of  his  lower  nature,  he  would  have  built  up  a 
strong  character,  dominant  for  good  ;  but  all  the 
influences  brought  to  bear  on  him  had  been  of 
a  kind  to  stimulate  a  love  of  false  excitement, 
and  an  aptitude  for  cunning.  Like  the  mass  of 
French  boys  he  was  never  permitted  the  least 
freedom,  always  being  accompanied  by  his  pa 
rents,  his  tutor  or  an  abbe,  and  his  impetuosity 
resenting  the  restraint,  he  began  at  an  early  age 
to  circumvent  those  in  authority  over  him.  Thus 
sinning,  not  only  in  obtaining  his  liberty  through 
deceit,  but  in  misusing  it,  at  a  time  when  the 
conscience  is  most  tender,  he  eagerly  caught  at 
the  doctrine  of  confession  and  absolution.  The 
imposed  penances  were  not  severe,  and  what 
could  be  more  delightful  for  a  young  fellow  than 


A    TRANSATLANTIC   CHATELAINE.          121 

to  have  all  the  excitement  and  amusement  of 
eating  forbidden  fruit,  sure  of  a  mild  panacea 
against  the  pangs  usually  caused  by  this  pursuit  ? 
He  thought,  at  that  time,  that  this  belief  in  his 
church  was  sincere,  but  as  he  became  less  of  a 
sentient,  and  more  of  a  reasoning  creature,  his 
restless  intellect  pushed  him  into  a  course  of 
serious  reading,  during  which  he  wandered  far 
afield  among  unorthodox  writers.  With  his 
mind  already  ripe  for  revolt,  he  confessed  his 
forbidden  researches,  and  received  a  severe  rep 
rimand  besides  a  heavy  penance ;  when  he  re 
monstrated,  citing  his  former  mild  punishments 
for  what  seemed  to  him  graver  offenses,  his 
father  confessor  replied,  "  My  son,  your  sins 
until  now  were  against  the  flesh,  therefore  lighter 
than  this,  which  is  against  the  spirit." 

Then  and  there  Philippe  shook  off  all  religious 
shackles  ;  the  spirit  of  skepticism  pervaded  him, 
and  when,  at  his  father's  death,  he  became  his 
own  master,  he  revered  neither  God  nor  man. 
From  that  day,  nearly  six  years  before  we  first 
see  him,  his  course  had  been  a  brilliant,  rapid 
downward  rush ;  and  at  the  moment  he  applied 
for  help  to  Maurice  he  realized  that  the  speed 
was  getting  too  breathless ;  he  must  put  on  a 
brake.  The  question  as  to  where  this  brake  was 
to  be  found  absorbed  him  after  he  had  written 
his  letter.  He  sat  almost  motionless,  only  his 


122  .1    TRANSATLANTIC    CHATELAINE. 

eyes  showing  him  to  be  awake  in  their  constant 
restlessness,  revolving  plans  for  the  future.  He 
was  sure  of  the  hundred  thousand  francs  now ; 
but  what  were  they  ?  —  a  mere  stop-gap  for  the 
moment.  He  must  have  money,  and  he  did  not 
see  his  way  clear.  "  What  on  earth  is  there  for 
me  to  do  ?  "  he  asked  himself.  "  My  mother 
would  say  '  marry  a  fortune,'  but  neither  she 
nor  I  can  discover  this  fortune  in  the  right 
hands.  All  the  legitimists  I  know  are  poor.  I 
have  not  sunk  low  enough,  thank  God,  to  take 
a  wife  from  the  Imperialists.  No,  I  would 
rather  marry  a.  bourgeoise  than  that.  But  I 
don't  want  to  marry  at  all,  and  what  else  is 
there  for  me  in  France  ?  " 

As  he  pondered,  his  hands  plunged  deep  in 
his  trousers  pockets,  his  legs  thrust  out  in  front 
of  him,  a  dark  cloud  on  his  low  brow,  the  door 
opened,  and  Marcel  came  noiselessly  in. 

"  Well,"  said  Philippe,  and  there  was  a  sharp 
note  of  anxiety  in  the  word. 

"  It  is  all  right,  Monsieur  le  comte,  for  the 
moment,"  answered  the  man  ;  "  I  have  put  the 
Jew  off  the  track  for  two  days  at  least.  Has 
Monsieur  le  comte  got  the  money?" 

"  Yes,  Marcel,"  said  Philippe  ;  "  I  landed  my 
fish  so  easily  that  there  was  not  much  fun  in 
the  game." 

"  Thank  God,"  responded   the   servant.     He 


.[    TRANSATLANTIC    CHATELAINE.  123 

was  an  ignoble  copy  of  his  master  when  out  of 
his  presence,  trying  to  imitate  the  air  of  supe 
riority  which  in  him  became  insolent  swagger  ; 
but  he  was  invaluable  as  a  valet,  and  did  not 
confine  his  usefulness  to  his  legitimate  duties. 

"  I  should  have  been  here  sooner,  but  I 
thought  it  would  take  Monsieur  le  comte  longer 
to  attend  to  his  business.  I  tricked  the  Jew 
finely,"  he  chuckled. 

"  How  did  you  do  it  ?  " 

"  I  saw  him  from  the  window  of  the  hotel, 
watching.  I  knew  his  game,  so  I  looked  up 
the  rapide  for  Paris ;  it  left  at  10.40.  I  took 
the  valise,  umbrella,  and  one  or  two  things  of 
my  own  in  my  hand,  and  went  out ;  the  minute 
I  appeared  Master  Jew  slipped  round  the  cor 
ner  out  of  sight.  It  was  then  only  half  past 
nine,  and  I  went  straight  to  a  restaurant  I  know, 
where  there  are  little  partitions  round  the  tables, 
with  curtains  to  draw  when  people  want  to  be 
private.  I  know  the  lady  in  charge  there,  and 
at  an  hour  like  that  she  was  n't  very  busy.  I 
stood  chaffing  her,  with  my  eyes  on  a  mirror 
behind  her,  and  pretty  soon  I  saw  my  man's 
ugly  nose  come  round  the  outside  door.  Then 
I  invited  her  to  keep  me  company  while  I  took 
a  snap  to  stay  my  stomach.  I  ordered  a  good 
breakfast  for  me,  and  a  syrup  for  her,  and  we 
sat  down  in  one  of  the  pens,  with  the  curtains 


124          A    TRANSATLANTIC    CHATELAINE. 

drawn.  I  was  no  sooner  settled  than  I  heard 
the  door  open  and  shut,  and  some  one  ordered  a 
bock ;  then  a  chair  scraped  in  the  pen  next 
mine." 

"  Give  me  an  absinthe  before  you  go  on," 
said  Philippe. 

The  man  obeyed,  and  then  continued.  He 
looked  very  tired,  and  rested  first  on  one  dusty 
foot,  then  on  the  other  ;  but  the  count  was  not  a 
master  to  encourage  familiarity,  although  inti 
mate  enough  with  him,  and  never  would  have 
dreamt  of  bidding  Marcel  sit  down,  while  he 
told  how  well  he  had  served  him.  Strangely 
enough,  this  very  mark  of  a  brutal  superiority 
made  him  more  fascinating  to  his  inferiors. 

"  I  saw,"  said  the  valet,  "that  the  beggar  had 
fallen  into  my  net ;  so  says  I,  '  Well,  now,  I 
suppose  you  think  it 's  odd,  madame,  to  see  me 
eating  at  this  hour,  and  all  ready  for  a  journey 
when  I  have  just  arrived.'  '  Indeed  I  do,'  says 
she.  '  What  game  are  you  up  to  now  ?  '  'It 's 
not  my  game,'  says  I  ;  '  It 's  my  master's,  bad 
luck  to  him,  whose  mind  changes  with  every 
turn  of  the  wind.  Just  here,  when  something 
scares  him,  so  we  are  off  to  Paris  by  the  10.40 
rapide."1  After  that  \ve  only  had  some  joking, 
and  pretty  soon  I  heard  old  jewsharp  go  out 
mighty  quiet,  so  I  jumped  up,  paid  my  reck 
oning,  loaded  up  and  started  for  the  station.  I 


A    TRANSATLANTIC    CHATELAINE.  125 

kept  my  man  in  sight,  and  saw  him  go  into  the 
post,  to  telegraph,  I  suppose." 

"  Yes,  without  doubt,"  said  Philippe.  "Well, 
go  on." 

"  I  kept  on  steady  but  slow  to  the  station, 
never  looking  round.  There  was  a  crowd  at 
the  ticket  office,  and  I  stood  a  little  sideways  to 
watch.  Sure  enough  ;  there  came  my  beauty, 
his  hat  down  low.  I  never  seemed  to  see  him  at 
all,  but  when  my  turn  came  I  sang  out,  '  One 
first,  one  second  to  Paris,'  paid  down  the  money, 
and  came  away.  He  was  pretty  close  behind 
me,  and  1  knew  he  was  on  my  heels  when  I 
went  to  the  train.  I  put  your  valise  in  a  first- 
class  carriage,  and  my  own  duds  in  a  second.  I 
saw  him  go  ahead,  and  get  into  a  second,  near 
the  engine.  Then  I  went  out  as  if  to  meet  Mon 
sieur.  I  waited  until  the  last  moment.  Then  I 
came  running  down  the  station,  and  held  open 
Monsieur's  carriage  door.  I  saw  the  Jew's  beak 
out  of  his  window,  but,  the  door  of  our  carriage 
being  open,  he  could  not  see  beyond  it.  I  made 
as  if  Monsieur  had  entered,  shut  and  locked  the 
door  ;  and  when  I  looked  again,  the  beak  had 
gone.  Then  I  came  down  the  platform  and  had 
a  good  laugh  when  I  saw  the  train  take  Mon 
sieur  Heins  to  Paris,  where  he  and  the  officer 
he  telegraphed  for  will  find  an  empty  valise  and 
an  umbrella." 


126          A    TRANSATLANTIC    CHATELAINE. 

Philippe  threw  back  his  head,  and  burst  into 
a  laugh,  which  showed  all  his  strong  glistening 
teeth.  In  no  way  did  he  differ  more  from  Mau 
rice  than  in  his  laugh.  Even  if  you  had  failed 
to  see  the  joke,  the  young  captain's  fresh  conta 
gious  peals  constrained  you  to  join  in  his  mirth, 
so  honest  and  hearty  was  it.  The  count's  had  a 
wolfish  sound  ;  few  laughed  with  him. 

"  Well  done,  Marcel,"  he  exclaimed.  "  You 
are  the  very  pearl  of  valets  ;  now  that  he  is  dis 
posed  of  for  twenty-four  hours  at  least,  we  will 
try  to  make  it  longer.  I  don't  believe  Captain 
Maurice  can  raise  the  money  for  five  or  six  days, 
so  to  keep  my  good  friend  Heins  away,  do  you 
send  word  to  three  or  four  Paris  society  papers 
the  important  fact  that  the  Count  de  La  Roche 
is  at  Trouville.  Then  buy  the  papers,  mark  the 
paragraphs  and  send  them  to  Heins.  He  will 
then  go  anywhere  but  here  to  look  me  up.  Do 
you  understand  ?  " 

"  Perfectly,  Monsieur  le  comte." 

"  Now,  then,  where  have  you  been  since  your 
train  went,  Marcel  ?  It  is  nearly  twelve  ?  " 

"  Yes,  Monsieur  le  comte,  I  know,  but  I  have 
been  to  see  my  aunt  Justine,  who  has  turned  up 
after  twenty  years.  She  is  the  maid  of  a  very 
rich  American  widow.  I  was  extremely  glad  to 
see  her  again  —  especially  since  my  losses  at  the 
Grand  Prix,"  he  added  thoughtfully. 


A    TRANSATLANTIC    CHATELAINE.          127 

"  You  are  a  dutiful  nephew,  Marcel.  Well, 
did  the  old  lady  help  you  out  when  you  told  her 
of  your  reverses  ?  " 

"  Oh,  Monsieur  le  comte,  I  did  not  mention 
such  a  thing  to  her.  I  saw  at  once  that  she  was 
devote,  so  I  gave  her  a  few  holy  sentiments,  and 
she  gave  me  ten  louis  d'or." 

He  chinked  the  coin  in  his  pocket,  and 
grinned. 

"  She  is  a  veritable  gold  mine,"  he  continued, 
"  or  her  mistress  is,  which  is  the  same  thing. 
Oh,  if  Monsieur  had  but  a  tenth  of  her  money 
all  this  weary  work  would  be  over." 

The  man  sighed.  He  was  worn  out  with  his 
morning's  exertions  after  a  sleepless  night.  The 
excitement  of  his  escape  was  gone,  only  the 
fatigue  remaining. 

"  Did  you  see  the  mistress  ?  "  asked  Philippe. 

"  No,  Monsieur  le  comte,  but  I  hear  that  she 
is  young  and  pretty.  My  aunt  told  me  that  she 
stood  as  high  in  her  country  as  Monsieur  stands 
here.  And  what  an  old  woman  for  family  my 
aunt  is  !  Holy  Virgin,  she  nearly  went  on  her 
knees  when  she  heard  whose  servant  I  was.  She 
has  all  the  old  names  of  France  at  the  tip  of  her 
tongue." 

"  And  you  say  her  mistress  is  rich  ?  " 

"  Enormously.  I  understand  that  she  is  going 
to  marry  Monsieur  le  Capitaine  Regnier." 


128          A    TRANSATLANTIC    CHATELAINE. 

"  Who  told  you  that,  Marcel  ?  No  hints,  no 
gossip  now.  What  do  you  know  ?  " 

"  To  tell  the  simple  truth,  Monsieur  le  comte, 
I  know  nothing  ;  but  with  the  little  I  got  out 
of  the  captain's  man,  that  dumb  dog  Jean,  and 
my  aunt's  anxiety  to  know  what  I  could  tell 
her  about  him,  I  put  two  and  two  together." 

"  What  did  you  tell  her  ?  " 

"  Only  this,  Monsieur  le  comte." 

Marcel  raised  his  shoulders,  spread  his  hands, 
and  thrust  out  his  under  lip  ;  his  appearance  was 
a  whole  family  history.  Philippe  laughed  again. 

"  You  are  discreet,  as  always,  Marcel ;  here  is 
another  louis  to  go  with  your  aunt's  gift.  Now 
you  may  go." 

Alone,  Philippe's  mind  began  again  its  task 
of  solving  the  problem  of  his  future.  Marcel's 
adroitness  had  amused  him  in  the  telling,  but 
stripped  of  its  outside  cleverness,  it  showed  a 
contemptible  condition  of  affairs.  lie  who  should 
be  able  to  hold  his  head  as  high  as  any  noble  in 
France,  saved  from  open  disgrace  by  the  cunning 
of  a  servant!  It  was  degrading.  He  felt  that 
something  must  be  done,  and  done  quickly.  Out 
wardly  as  sound  as  ever,  he  alone  was  conscious 
of  internal  tremors  and  commotions,  and  recog 
nized  that  his  self  control  was  less  iron  in  its 
firmness.  Once  more  his  mind  reverted  to  a  rich 
marriage.  "  Maurice  going  to  marry  millions  ? 


A    TRANSATLANTIC    CHATELAINE.          129 

I  don't  believe  it ;  he  would  n't  have  gone  away 
for  me  so  willingly  if  it  were  true.  A  foreign  wife 
would  be  better  than  one  either  from  the  bour 
geoisie  or  the  Imperialists.  My  mother  could 
not  make  much  of  a  row,  for  I  have  a  precedent 
to  go  by,  —  my  sainted  ancestor  who  sold  his 
soul  for  a  rich  wife.  Probably  the  story  about 
the  devil  grew  because  he  got  a  divorce.  That 
is  priestlore.  I  will  take  a  look  at  this  Yankee 
widow  at  all  events,  and,  by  Jove,  if  she  is  like 
my  ancestress  in  not  being  able  to  talk  French, 
I  '11  marry  her  with  her  consent  or  without  it. 
A  wife  whose  scolding  you  could  n't  understand 
would  be  the  mare  for  my  money." 


CHAPTER  VI. 

PHILIPPE'^  first  idea,  after  having  said  good- 
by  to  Maurice,  was  to  find  out  more  about  this 
tempting  American  widow  of  whom  Marcel  spoke 
with  such  enthusiasm.  For  this  purpose  he  went 
to  the  club,  and  there  found  the  very  man  who 
could  give  him  all  the  information  he  wanted. 
Monsieur  de  Belfort,  small,  dark,  Parisian  to 
the  tips  of  his  long  supple  fingers,  was  so  elated 
at  being  singled  out  by  the  famous  de  La  Roche 
for  a  tete-a-tete,  that  he  would  have  assumed 
much  knowledge  on  the  subject  the  count  ques 
tioned  him  about,  even  if  he  had  not  possessed 
it ;  but  being  by  nature  and  habit  a  tuft-hunter, 
he  had  by  heart  all  the  private  affairs  of  all  the 
frequenters  of  Trouville,  and  eagerly  set  himself 
to  satisfy  his  questioner. 

Putting  on  an  air  of  vast  importance,  he  led 
Philippe  to  a  corner  of  the  room,  ostentatiously 
placing  himself  in  an  attitude  that  implied  much 
intimacy. 

"  You  ask  me  what  I  can  tell  about  the  rich, 
the  charming  Madame  Iluntington,  the  belle 
of  this  season  ?  Much.  First,  that  she  is  un- 


A    TRANSATLANTIC    CHATELAINE.          131 

doubtedly  the  possessor  of  a  large  fortune  ;  ten 
million  francs." 

"  And  that  is  certain  ?  " 

"  Certain.  De  Beaucorps  wanted  to  marry 
her ;  he  made  her  an  offer,  which  she  refused, 
by  the  way,  and  before  doing  so  he  found  out 
about  her  property.  It  is  well  invested,  in  her 
own  right,  and  she  is  quite  alone  in  the  world, 
with  neither  children  nor  parents  to  interfere. 
Oh,  my  dear  friend,  I  assure  you  that  she  is 
a  rare  prize.  I  have  regretted  my  state  often 
and  often  this  summer.  If  I  had  no  wife,  who 
knows?  " 

The  little  man  waved  his  hand  with  a  conquer 
ing  air  as  he  spoke,  giving  the  impression  that 
it  was  alone  his  unfortunate  wife  who  had  pre 
vented  Sylvia  from  succumbing  to  his  charms. 

Philippe  leant  forward,  and  put  his  hand  on 
his  companion's  arm  ;  he  knew  very  well  that 
this  touch  of  familiarity  would  do  much  for  him  ; 
few  things  done  by  him  were  unstudied  when  he 
had  an  object  in  view. 

"  My  dear  fellow,  I  am  making  you  my  con 
fidant  ;  you  must  keep  my  secret,  for  you  are 
the  only  one  I  trust  with  it." 

"  The  grave  is  less  safe  than  I,  when  friend 
ship  is  involved." 

"  Well,  then,  I  am  not  at  all  disinclined  to  run 
for  this  prize  myself.  Now  can  you  give  me  any 


132          A    TRANSATLANTIC    CHATELAINE. 

pointers,  as  to  her  likes  and  dislikes,  her  char 
acter,  and  above  all  if  there  is  any  one  who  has 
an  influence  over  her  ?  " 

"  She  is  rather  exclusive  ;  that  will  work  well 
for  you.  She  is  fond  of  horses ;  Regnier  can 
tell  you  about  that.  By  the  way,  he  is  a  great 
deal  with  her  ;  did  you  know  it  ?  " 

"  No,  I  know  nothing ;  Regnier  left  Trouville 
an  hour  ago,  so  I  have  seen  him  only  for  a  few 
minutes.  Go  on." 

"  As  for  influence,  there  I  am  in  the  dark. 
They  say  that  her  companion,  an  Englishwoman, 
Madame  Lee -Blair,  has  an  enormous  deal  of 
tact,  and  can  persuade  her  to  a  good  many 
things ;  but  of  that  I  can  assert  but  little." 

"  Thank  you,  my  dear  boy,  for  what  you  have 
told  me.  Now  we'll  go  to  the  casino,  and  see 
if  my  beauty  shows  up." 

How  de  Belfort  longed  for  stilts  as  he  strolled 
along  by  Philippe's  side,  his  eyebrows  raised, 
his  manner  expressing  confidential  importance  ! 
He  talked  steadily  to  his  companion,  who  swayed 
insolently  along,  quite  aware  of  de  Belfort's  flut 
ter  of  excitement,  and  secretly  amused  by  it. 

Suddenly  the  little  Parisian  grasped  his  arm, 
and  exclaimed,  "  There  she  is !  "  at  the  same 
time  raising  his  hat  with  an  exaggerated  polite 
ness  to  two  ladies,  flashing  by  in  a  victoria. 
Philippe  only  caught  sight  of  a  fresh  summer 


A    TRANSATLANTIC    CHATELAINE.          133 

toilet,  and  the  graceful  bend  of  a  slender  figure ; 
but  his  quick  eye,  accustomed  to  note  such  details, 
had  taken  in  the  quiet  elegance  of  the  turnout, 
the  good  taste  of  the  liveries,  the  perfect  groom 
ing  of  the  horses. 

"  Your  widow  knows  a  horse,  if  she  picked 
out  those  cobs,"  he  said  carelessly. 

u  Yes,  she 's  a  great  horse-woman.  As  I  said 
before,  you  have  only  to  ask  Regnier  about  his 
rides  with  her,"  said  de  Belfort  with  a  chuckle. 

Philippe  disliked  these  allusions  to  Maurice  ; 
he  preferred  to  know  nothing  of  his  affairs  at 
the  present  moment.  So  he  made  no  answer, 
and  they  walked  on  in  silence.  Some  people 
require  tangible  proofs  before  they  realize  any 
thing  forcibly,  and  the  mere  sight  of  Sylvia's 
horses  and  carriage  had  made  Philippe  believe 
in  her  fortune  more  than  any  amount  of  figures 
could  have  done. 

"Shall  I  introduce  you?"  asked  de  Belfort 
as  they  stood  near  the  entrance  of  the  casino. 

"  To  Madame  Lee-Blair,  if  you  please." 

"  Ah,  diplomat !  You  look  ahead,"  exclaimed 
de  Belfort,  leading  the  way  through  the  groups 
of  gayly  dressed  women  and  well-appointed  men, 
wishing  that  all  the  world  were  seeing  him. 

Flora  was  sitting  listening  to  the  music  of 
the  orchestra  with  a  worried  expression ;  for  the 
moment  she  was  alone,  an  unusual  thing  for  her, 


134  A    TRANSATLANTIC    CHATELAINE. 

as  she  was  a  general  favorite,  and  all  her  anx 
ieties  were  very  present  to  her.  Sylvia  the  wife 
of  llegnier,  a  man  who  disliked  her,  as  she  felt 
instinctively,  what  would  become  of  her  ?  The 
figures  of  the  money  she  owed  danced  before  her 
like  spectres  at  the  feast.  She  was  idly  wonder 
ing  if  it  sounded  more  alarming  in  francs,  or  in 
pounds,  shillings,  and  pence,  when  a  voice  mur 
mured  a  request  in  her  ear,  and  in  another  mo 
ment  Philippe  was  bowing  before  her. 

What  is  the  subtle  aroma  called  by  us  fasci 
nation  ?  It  is  apart  from  beauty,  it  seems  to 
have  little  or  nothing  to  do  with  intellect ;  but 
that  it  is  as  positive  a  force  as  gravitation,  or 
capillary  attraction,  is  certain.  Some  of  these 
days  a  new  kind  of  X-ray  will  be  turned  on  it, 
and  the  scientists  will  give  us  a  formula  of  its 
component  parts,  but  they  will  not  alter  its  mys 
terious  powers.  I  have  seen  a  man  enter  a  room 
filled  with  women,  most  of  them  young,  pretty, 
and  attractive  ;  if  one  of  those  beings  possessing 
fascination  is  present,  he  knows  it  as  soon  as  if 
she  wore  a  placard  on  her  breast  announcing  the 
fact.  Often  she  has  none  of  the  exterior  charms 
of  her  companions,  but  in  nine  cases  out  of  ten 
the  man  will  say  to  his  hostess,  "  I  should  like 
to  know  the  little  woman  in  gray." 

And  what  is  true  of  one  sex  is  equally  true 
of  the  other. 


A    TRANSATLANTIC    CHATELAINE.          135 

Philippe  de  La  Roche  was  the  owner  of  this 
quality;  he  would  have  possessed  a  power  over 
his  fellow  beings  had  he  been  in  the  most  hum 
ble  position,  but  his  name  and  high  standing 
added  their  weight.  Flora  had  not  spoken  a 
dozen  words  to  him  before  she  felt  his  charm. 
He  had  begun  the  conversation  with  the  ease  of 
an  old  friend,  and  the  stimulating  interest  of  a 
new  acquaintance. 

Sylvia,  surrounded  as  usual  by  a  little  court 
of  admirers,  saw  Flora  and  the  count  laughing 
and  talking  with  much  animation ;  she  had  heard 
his  name  spoken  when  he  entered  as  if  his  ad 
vent  was  an  event  of  some  importance,  and  she 
was  interested  to  see  the  man  of  whose  home  and 
surroundings  she  knew  so  much.  She  had  al 
ready  invested  him  with  a  halo  of  romance,  and 
she  was  not  disappointed  when  she  saw  the  ori 
ginal  of  the  portrait  painted  for  her  by  Maurice. 
His  easy  bearing,  his  air  of  superiority,  his  manly 
physique  were  as  she  had  imagined  them;  and 
the  attitude  of  the  leaders  of  the  Trouville  world 
towards  him,  yielding  him  at  once  the  most  im 
portant  place,  had  its  effect  on  her. 

She  had  noticed  how  quietly,  and  yet  how 
decidedly,  he  withdrew  himself  from  those  who 
had  tried  to  attract  him  on  his  entrance ;  she 
noted  that  the  very  people  whom  Flora  pro 
nounced  most  worthy  to  be  courted  paid  him 


130  A    TRANSATLANTIC    CHATELAINE. 

marked  deference.  The  wish  flashed  into  her 
mind  that  Maurice  might  command  a  kindred 
position,  and  she  sighed  involuntarily. 

Meantime  Philippe  was  making  headway  with 
Flora.  "  I  am  a  great  reader  of  character,"  he 
said,  smiling  ;  "  I  can  tell  you  much  about  your 
self." 

"  If  it 's  complimentary,  I  should  like  to  hear 
it ;  if  not,  we  '11  change  the  subject." 

"  It 's  true,  I  think ;  therefore  it  must  be 
pleasant  for  you  to  hear.  You  have,  I  should 
judge,  a  most  self-denying  nature." 

This  did  not  strike  Flora  as  a  piquant  remark  ; 
she  would  have  preferred  something  more  flat 
tering,  but  she  smiled  nevertheless,  and  asked 
why  he  thought  so. 

"  Because  you  have  chosen  glare  and  distance 
from  the  music.  You  can't  find  your  seat  an 
agreeable  one,  and  yet  you  sit  there  content- 
edly." 

"  Now  that  you  speak  of  it,  the  glare  is  dis 
agreeable,  but  I  fancy  that  you  are  a  late  comer 
if  you  imagine  any  one  listens  to  the  band  here. 
No,  we  only  use  our  ears  in  this  Garden  of  Eden 
to  find  out  what  the  serpent  really  said,  and  what 
Eve  told  Adam  he  said." 

"  How  delightfully  refreshing  to  come  to  a 
place  where  there  are  such  natural  objects  as 
serpents.  We  don't  allow  them  in  Paris.  But 


A  TRANSATLANTIC  CHATELAINE.    137 

is  your  place  so  beguiling  that  you  won't  take  a 
stroll  with  me  ?  You  don't  give  ine  your  undi 
vided  attention,  and  as  I  am  a  monopolist  of  all 
good  things,  I  dislike  to  see  you  bowing  to  this 
one,  and  smiling  at  that  one." 

He  rose  as  he  spoke,  and  she  followed  his 
example  with  alacrity ;  it  was  a  good  adver 
tisement  to  be  seen  engrossing  the  attention  of 
a  man  like  de  La  Roche,  who  seldom  wasted  his 
time  with  women  of  the  whole  world.  So  she 
sauntered  along  the  sands,  wondering  how  soon 
he  would  tell  why  he  wanted  her  society  so  much, 
for  Flora  was  shrewd  enough  to  know  that  he 
had  some  motive.  It  soon  appeared,  just  as  she 
had  expected. 

"  Your  friend  Madame  Huntington  looks  very 
charming,"  he  said,  throwing  a  side  glance  at 
Sylvia,  as  they  passed  the  group  of  which  she 
was  the  centre. 

"  Yes,  she  is  charming,  charming,"  answered 
Flora. 

"  Of  course  you  have  had  innumerable  offers 
for  her?" 

"  Oh,  of  course  ;  one  does  not  find  an  heiress 
who  is  so  presentable  every  day  in  the  week." 

"  You  must  be  very  clever  to  have  kept  her  to 
yourself  so  long." 

He  looked  full  at  his  companion  when  he 
made  this  advance.  He  was  feeling  his.  way, 


138          A    TRANSATLANTIC    CHATELAINE. 

and  he  must  not  make  a  false  step  in  the  be 
ginning. 

Flora  drew  herself  up  a  little.  "  Your  remark 
might  be  taken  in  a  bad  sense,  Monsieur,"  she 
replied  with  some  hauteur. 

"  It  might,"  he  answered  composedly,  "  by  a 
woman  who  did  not  belong  to  the  world  of  which 
you  and  I  are  conspicuous  inmates." 

It  was  not  unpleasing  to  Flora  to  be  tacitly 
received  by  the  count  as  one  of  his  own  sort ; 
her  voice  was  more  genial  when  she  said  :  — 

"  Well,  take  it  for  granted  that  I  have  been 
clever.  I  call  it  lucky,  but  the  result  is  the 
same." 

"  And  it  is  not  hard  to  foretell  that  the  result 
will  continue  to  be  the  same,  until  you  choose  to 
pull  the  other  set  of  wires,  and  your  puppet  nods 
her  head,  instead  of  shaking  it." 

Who  does  not  enjoy  the  reputation  of  power  ? 
The  inference  that  she  was  influential  in  guiding 
Sylvia  flattered  Flora  extremely,  although  she 
knew  how  untrue  it  was. 

"  What  sort  of  a  person  is  Madame  Hunting- 
ton  ?  Is  she  easily  handled  ?  " 

"  Mon  elicit,  no  !  It  requires  the  utmost  tact 
to  make  her  see  things  with  your  eyes." 

"  A  positive  nature,  then  ?" 

"  Very  positive,  for  all  she  looks  so  soft  and 
yielding." 


A    TRANSATLANTIC    CHATELAINE.          139 

Flora  thought  with  a  pang  of  Maurice  as  she 
spoke ;  was  Sylvia  going  to  prove  obstinate 
about  him  ?  The  count  continued  his  catechism. 

"  Is  she  generous  ?  " 

"  With  her  money,  no  one  could  be  more  so, 
but  with  her  affection  she  is  a  perfect  miser." 

"  Ah,  cold.  I  inferred  as  much  when  I  heard 
that  she  was  from  New  England  ;  those  women 
are  all  icebergs.  Then  it  is  probably  untrue 
what  I  was  told  at  the  club,  that  she  is  dead  in 
love  with  Captain  Regnier." 

Flora's  heart  gave  a  quick,  agitating  leap ; 
others  had  noticed  the  affair,  then,  as  well  as 
she.  "  I  don't  know,"  she  said,  in  a  depressed 
tone.  "  It  has  been  troubling  me  dreadfully. 
Do  you  know  Regnier  ?  " 

"  Know  him  ?  I  should  think  so  !  He  was 
brought  up  in  my  chateau  ;  he  has  just  gone 
down  to  Touraine  to  do  an  errand  for  me.  He  's 
a  —  a  —  Well,  if  you  know  his  position,  you 
will  understand  me  when  I  say  that  he  is  a  sort 
of  hanger-on  of  our  house." 

Flora  did  not  know  what  the  position  was  to 
which  de  La  Roche  alluded,  and  his  expression , 
did  not  seem  to  fit  the  dashing,  rather  haughty 
young  officer ;  she  could  not  somehow  fancy 
Maurice  being  sent  on  an  errand,  but  the  phrase 
gave  her  a  gleam  of  hope. 

While  the  -words  faltered  on  his  tongue,  Phi- 


140         A    TRANSATLANTIC    CHATELAINE. 

.lippe  had  been  assailed  by  a  fierce  temptation. 
Up  to  that  moment  he  had  had  no  intention  of 
playing  Maurice  false,  more  than  was  implied 
in  trying  to  take  his  place  with  the  young  widow. 
But  suddenly  his  active  mind  saw  a  move  to  be 
made,  so  simple  that  a  whisper  could  accomplish 
it,  and  which,  once  successful,  would  give  him 
an  undoubted  advantage.  They  turned  uncon 
sciously,  and  moved  nearer  the  crowd  and  the 
music  again.  Mephistopheles  was  busy  at  his 
old  game  of  temptation,  making  suggestions  with 
infernal  ingenuity,  and  as  he  generally  busies 
himself  about  a  soul  of  which  he  is  almost  sure 
in  advance,  his  work  received  a  final  touch  when 
he  brought  in  his  Marguerite  to  play  her  part. 
Sylvia  was  listening  to  the  men  surrounding 
her  with  an  air  of  attention  and  interest  that 
was  one  of  her  chief  charms.  At  first  her  air  of 
distinction  eclipsed  even  her  grace  and  beauty. 
Perfectly  at  her  ease,  she  turned  her  flower- 
like  head  first  to  one,  then  to  another.  There 
was  an  unusual  beauty  in  her  face  to-day  — 
perhaps  caused  by  a  softened  expression  —  and 
a  luminoiis  glow  in  her  eyes.  With  her  world 
at  her  feet,  courted,  flattered  by  all,  she  would 
have  been  the  first  to  smile  in  derision  at  the 
idea  that  she  was  pathetic,  infinitely  pathetic,  in 
her  young  ignorance.  She  thought  at  that  mo 
ment  that  life  was  a  very  simple  affair :  she 


A    TRANSATLANTIC    CHATELAINE.          141 

fancied  that  she  knew  all  the  baseness  of  the 
world,  and  was  prepared  to  meet  it,  because 
some  of  the  more  conspicuous  scandals  had  been 
repeated  to  her ;  she  felt  herself  as  wise  in  her 
new  experience  as  if  she  knew  it  all.  And  if 
she  had  been  told  that  she  was  but  a  quarry,  to 
be  hunted  down  and  claimed  by  the  most  skillful 
huntsman,  she  would  have  mocked  her  informer, 
and  said  that  her  future  was  in  her  own  hands, 
and  she  could  make  it  what  she  chose.  What 
could  she  know  or  guess,  in  her  New  World 
guilelessness,  of  the  atmosphere  of  diplomacy 
and  finesse  which  is  native  air  to  the  people  of 
the  oldest  European  civilization  ? 

As  Philippe  gave  a  swift  glance  that  took  in 
each  detail,  an  animal  light  flashed  into  his 
eyes. 

"  She  is  very  pretty,"  he  said,  in  an  indifferent 
tone,  turning  to  Flora,  —  "a  little  unripe  for 
my  taste  ;  she  will  be  improved  by  a  year  or 
two  more." 

Mrs.  Lee-Blair  felt  the  implied  compliment ; 
it  was  very  soothing  to  her  racked  nerves  to  be 
with  the  count. 

Once  again  they  strolled  over  the  sands. 
Flora  had  not  taken  so  much  exercise  for  years, 
but  it  did  not  seem  to  fatigue  her.  Philippe 
kept  up  a  perfunctory  conversation,  having  ab 
ruptly  changed  the  subject,  and  all  the  time  his 


142          A    TRANSATLANTIC    CHATELAINE. 

brain  was  working,  working.  It  was  absurd 
to  think  of  Maurice  with  all  that  money ;  what 
could  he  do  with  it  ?  lie  had  no  estate  to  keep 
up,  like  La  Roche  ;  he  was  not  a  gambler  ;  his 
tastes  were  not  expensive.  It  was  wicked  to 
think  of  him  weighed  down  by  what  would  only 
be  to  him  a  responsibility,  whilst  to  Philippe 
it  meant  restored  honor,  delight  for  his  mother, 
comfort  for  all  those  dependent  on  him.  Was 
it  not  his  duty  to  think  of  the  greatest  good 
for  the  greatest  number  ?  A  young  follow  like 
Maurice  had  no  right  to  wish  to  monopolize  so 
large  a  fortune.  The  thought  was  preposterous. 
Besides,  he  deserved  some  punishment  for  being 
so  confoundedly  secretive  ;  had  not  Philippe  told 
him  of  all  his  troubles  ?  Why,  then,  had  he  been 
hiding  his  own  affairs  ? 

Philippe  and  Flora  were  again  at  the  point 
farthest  from  the  casino,  the  very  spot  where 
Philippe  had  before  alluded  to  Maurice's  posi 
tion.  Her  mind  took  up  the  remark  there,  just 
as  they  had  dropped  it ;  she  was  thirsting  to 
know  what  he  meant,  and  wondered  if  she  might 
introduce  the  subject  again.  She  must  find  out ; 
it  was  her  duty  to  Sylvia.  So  she  said  with  a 
little  sigh  :  — 

"  You  mentioned  young  Regnier's  position 
just  now.  It  is  an  anomalous  one  for  him  to  be 
in  ;  so  young,  too." 


A    TRANSATLANTIC   CHATELAINE.          143 

She  prided  herself  immensely  on  the  word 
"  anomalous."  She  was  n't  quite  sure  what  it 
meant,  and  so  considered  it  delightfully  non 
committal.  Philippe  was  amused  in  a  grim  way 
to  see  how  the  bait  had  attracted  his  fish.  He 
knew  that  she  had  not  the  least  idea  to  what  he 
had  alluded,  as  indeed  how  could  she  ?  But  this 
attitude  of  hers  was  just  what  he  wanted,  so  he 
replied,  — 

"  Of  course  it 's  hard  for  him  ;  he  's  a  good 
fellow,  and  I  'm  fond  of  him.  But  I  come  in 
for  my  share  of  pity  too.  You  can  understand 
that  it 's  not  any  too  pleasant  for  me." 

Flora  was  on  pins  and  needles,  as  the  saying 
is.  What  was  this  extraordinary  complication, 
of  which  she,  —  she  who  prided  herself  on  her 
general  knowledge  of  family  affairs,  —  knew  no 
thing  ?  Should  she  be  honest,  and  confess  her 
ignorance  ?  or  should  she  grope  her  way,  thus 
perhaps  learning  more  in  the  end  ?  She  de 
cided  on  the  latter  course,  and  with  another  sigh 
said,  "  Oh,  no,  of  course  not.  In  what  way  do 
you  feel  it  most?  " 

"  Why,  to  be  honest,  I  think  that  being  de 
prived  of,  at  the  least,  half  my  income  is  the 
shoe  that  pinches  in  the  oiost  disagreeable  way  ; 
but  added  to  that  is  the  feeling  that  Maurice's 
mere  existence  is  an  insult  tb  my  poor  mother, 
the  best  of  women  ;  and  she  worries  continually 


144          A    TRANSATLANTIC   CHATELAINE. 

to  think  that  I,  who  have  the  name  to  keep  up, 
and  the  estate  to  maintain,  should  be  hampered 
by  my  insufficient  means." 

"  That  must  be  fearful  for  you."  Flora  made 
this  remark  with  true  sympathy.  That  was  a 
subject  of  which  she  knew  much  by  experience. 

"  It  is  hard,"  he  rejoined  frankly.  "  For  with 
about  the  same  fortune,  I  am  a  poor,  while  Reg- 
nier  is  a  rich  man.  You  see  before  you,  madame, 
a  living  illustration  of  the  saying,  '  The  sins  of 
the  fathers  shall  be  visited  on  the  children.'  ' 

He  smiled  as  he  spoke  ;  but  it  was  a  sad  smile, 
which  she  felt  to  be  very  touching.  Her  mind 
had  enough  to  keep  it  busy  for  a  moment.  She 
could  see  but  one  solution  to  his  remarks  :  what 
else  could  he  mean  ?  So  she  took  another  exper 
imental  step  along  her  path  of  discovery,  quite 
ignorant  of  the  force  behind  her,  impelling  her 
on  her  way. 

"  You  look  on  these  affairs  so  differently  in 
France  to  what  we  do.  Now  in  England  young 
Regnier  would  be  placed  in  a  haberdasher's 
shop,  and  that  would  be  the  end  of  him  as  far 
as  the  family  were  concerned.  Here,  on  the 
contrary,  I  fancy  he  could  marry,  with  his 
money,  about  as  he  pleased." 

"  Oh,  no  ;  oh,  no  ! "  said  Philippe  with  empha 
sis.  "  His  one  chance  will  be  to  find  some  for 
eigner,  either  ignorant  or  careless  of  his  origin. 


.-1    TRANSATLANTIC   CHATELAINE.          145 

Unless  a  wife  of  that  sort  turns  up  for  him,  he 
will  have  to  marry  into  the  bourgeoisie.  From 
the  gossip  I  have  heard,  I  imagine  that  Madame 
Huntington  is  willing  to  overlook  any  small 
irregularity  in  his  family  matters,  eh  ?  " 

"  And  /imagine  that  she  is  quite  ignorant  of 
any  such  irregularity." 

Philippe  stopped,  and  fixed  her  with  a  severe 
look. 

"  You  will  pardon  me  if  I  seem  to  be  inter 
fering  with  you,  but  as  a  gentleman  I  think  it 
my  duty  to  tell  you  that  you  should  be  careful 
regarding  the  antecedents  of  a  man  who  has 
made  your  charge  as  conspicuous  as  Maurice 
has  Madame  Huntington." 

"  I  see  now  how  careless  I  have  been.  But 
everybody  nice  seemed  to  receive  him." 

"  The  position  of  the  de  La  Roche  family  is 
high  enough  to  give  any  one  connected  with 
them  a  place  of  respectability  in  the  world.  I 
wonder  that  you  have  heard  nothing  of  this 
matter,  and  my  advice  to  you  is  to  conceal  your 
ignorance  about  it.  To  speak  frankly,  I  think 
that  you  would  be  rather  severely  blamed  for 
letting  things  drift." 

"  But  I  must  tell  Sylvia  —  Madame  Hunting- 
ton  —  what  you  have  said,"  she  replied.  She 
was  beginning  to  feel  jubilant:  all  was  not  hope 
less.  If  she  could  gain  time,  only  a  year,  she 


146          A    TRANSATLANTIC    CHATELAINE. 

would  retrieve  the  past,  pay  her  debts,  and  turn 
over  a  new  leaf.  The  count's  intelligence  gave 
her  courage. 

"  Remember,  I  don't  ask  you  to  take  any 
thing  on  my  authority.  I  am  too  new  a  —  may 
I  say  friend  ?  —  to  take  the  liberty  of  dictating 
to  you.  All  that  I  dare  venture  on  is  a  little 
advice.  Don't  let  things  go  any  farther  without 
demanding  Maurice  Regnier's  family  papers. 
As  to  telling  Madame  Huntington,  perhaps  she 
would  not  care  about  his  birth.  Those  Amer 
icans  have  rather  crude  ideas." 

"  Ah,  but  not  Sylvia !  No,  no  ;  she  is  full  of 
all  kinds  of  notions  about  nobility,  descent,  and 
that  sort  of  thing.  It  has  surprised  me  that 
she  encouraged  this  Regnier,  even  not  knowing 
the  stain  on  his  birth,  because  he  holds  no  high 
station." 

"  How  strangely  things  turn  out,"  he  said 
in  another  tone,  as  if  that  subject  were  ended. 
"  Here  I  asked  you  to  walk  on  the  beach  with 
me,  simply  because  I  thought  you  would  prove 
a  delightful  companion,  and  we  have  at  once 
plunged  into  the  heart  of  things." 

"  Life  is  full  of  such  surprises.  I  came  with 
you  for  the  same  reason  that  you  say  you  asked 
me,  and  here  am  I  indebted  to  you  for  a  very 
great  service." 

"  Let  us  hope  that  it  is  but  the  beginning  of 


A    TRANSATLANTIC    CHATELAINE.          147 

many  mutual  good  turns,"  he  replied  with  his 
quick  smile.  "  Here  we  are  at  the  casino  once 
more.  Will  you  introduce  me  to  your  charge?" 

He  had  time  but  for  a  few  words  with  Sylvia, 
for  the  sun  was  sinking,  and  the  hour  conse 
crated  to  the  toilet  was  at  hand.  So  he  was 
compelled  to  cut  short  his  conversation.  After 
helping  her  into  her  carriage,  and  standing  with 
lifted  hat  as  she  was  driven  away,  he  went  back 
to  his  hotel,  evading  the  intrusive  de  Belfort, 
who  had  served  his  brief  turn,  and  fell  again 
into  his  position  of  a  bore. 

As  Philippe  walked  swiftly  along,  his  head 
bent,  his  brows  gathered  in  a  thoughtful  frown, 
he  was  congratulating  himself  on  having  done 
a  clever  stroke  of  work,  and  at  the  same  time 
laying  plans  for  the  future. 

"  I  told  no  lie,  strictly  speaking.  I  told  her 
how  to  get  proofs,  that 's  all.  Now  Marcel  must 
be  posted  in  regard  to  his  aunt,  the  maid.  And 
as  for  the  English  woman,  I  must  find  her  price. 
Maurice  is  such  a  fool  that  I  doubt  if  it  occurred 
to  him  to  buy  her  services.  She  's  not  too  stu 
pid,  and  she  '11  never  give  up  her  fat  place  with 
the  rich  widow  without  a  fight.  If  a  fellow 
has  the  prospect  of  the  income  from  ten  million 
francs,  he  can  make  some  tempting  offers." 

When  Flora  had  introduced  the  Count  de  La 
Roche  to  Sylvia,  the  mere  mention  of  his  name 


148  .-1    TRANSATLANTIC    CHATELAINE. 

brought  to  her  suggestions  of  romance,  chivalry, 
and  beauty.  She  was  frankly  interested  in  the 
owner  of  the  castle  by  the  river,  with  its  Old 
World  histories.  He  seemed  to  belong  to  an 
older,  more  enduring  class  than  the  habitues  of 
Trouville,  who  fluttered  in  and  out  of  their  villas 
with  the  evanescent  air  of  butterflies.  She  had 
scarcely  spoken  a  dozen  words  to  him,  and  yet  he 
had  impressed  his  personality  strongly  upon  her. 

She  left  Flora  as  soon  as  she  entered  the 
house,  and  ran  to  her  own  room  murmuring 
something  about  being  late  for  dinner.  She 
wanted  to  be  alone  for  a  while,  for  she  did  not 
trust  herself  since  the  morning,  and  feared  that 
she  might  say  something  to  betray  her  secret. 
As  she  closed  her  door  she  noticed  an  odor  of 
roses,  and  there,  on  her  dressing  -  table,  lay  a 
mass  of  long-stemmed,  white,  half-opened  buds. 
She  took  them  up,  and  an  envelope  fell  from 
them.  In  it  was  Maurice's  card  with  these 
words :  "  Farewell.  I  obey  you,  and  shall  bo  gone 
for  an  eternity,  —  a  whole  week,  —  but  I  love 
you,  I  love  you.  Until  you  see  me  again  let 
every  breeze  that  blows,  every  star  that  shines, 
tell  you  of  my  love.  M.  R." 

She  read  his  message  twice,  and  then  she 
buried  her  face  in  the  roses.  Even  with  herself 
she  was  shy  to  acknowledge  that  her  lifelong 
enemy  was  vanquishing  her.  She  stood  with 


.1    THAN  SAT  LAN  TIC    CHATELAINE.  149 

her  eyes  fixed  on  the  sea,  and  wondered  at  her 
own  state  of  mind.  Did  she  really  love  Maurice  ? 
It  was  impossible  for  her  to  decide.  She  tried 
honestly  and  fairly  to  picture  a  whole  life  with 
him,  and  only  him,  but  it  was  difficult  to  realize 
such  a  state  of  things.  She  knew  that  she  felt 
a  new  excitement  and  interest,  that  she  seemed 
to  have  grown  years  younger  since  the  morning ; 
but  she  did  not  know  that  the  cause  of  this  was 
not  so  much  in  Maurice  as  in  herself.  The 
inevitable  hour  had  come  when  the  love  for 
which  she  had  inherited  a  marked  capacity  as 
serted  its  power.  She  was  swayed  by  the  attri 
bute,  but  not  by  the  individual  as  yet,  and  after 
all,  what  was  there  in  the  young  cavalry  officer 
besides  his  manly  presence,  and  the  flattery 
caused  by  his  love  of  her,  to  make  her  renounce 
the  dominating  determination  of  her  life?  Other 
men  were  as  good  horsemen,  as  clever  poets,  as 
bold  wooers  as  he  ;  but  then  the  other  men  were 
not  by  her  side  who  would  have  had  an  equal 
chance  on  these  grounds,  and  Sylvia  had  still  to 
learn  the  loyalty  and  strength  of  his  nature. 

As  she  thought  over  the  events  of  the  day  she 
wanted  to  believe  she  loved  Maurice,  and  yet 
she  shrunk  from  having  the  belief  confirmed  ; 
she  liked  to  feel  her  heart  beat  more  quickly 
as  she  pictured  his  eyes  plunging  their  burning 
glances  into  hers  ;  she  delighted  in  the  blushes 


150         A    TRANSATLANTIC   CHATELAINE. 

that  ran  over  her  face  as  she  recalled  the  pres 
sure  of  his  arms  when  he  lifted  her  from  her 
horse.  And  yet  —  and  yet  she  did  not  know 
him.  She  had  told  herself  for  years  that  love 
made  slaves.  She  had  never  wanted  to  come  to 
this  pass  —  and  here  she  was. 

For  the  first  time  in  her  life  she  longed  for 
her  mother,  who  in  this  crisis  would  have  helped 
and  advised  her.  A  little  water-color  sketch 
that  Gilbert  had  made  of  his  bride  hung  in  its 
simple  frame  by  Sylvia's  bed,  and  she  stood 
looking  at  it  entreatingly,  and  invoked  the  spirit 
of  motherhood  to  help  her  in  her  confusion  of 
mind.  All  in  vain.  No  light  broke  in  on  her 
darkness.  When  she  joined  Flora  at  their  tete- 
a-tete  dinner,  the  older  woman  felt  that  there 
was  something  new  at  work.  Sylvia  talked 
rather  more  gayly  and  easily  than  usual,  but 
there  was  an  aloofness  about  her,  too  delicate  to 
be  described.  It  was  as  if  she  spoke  and  lis 
tened  without  understanding.  As  they  went 
into  the  drawing-room,  however,  the  little  mist 
was  dispelled  by  a  word. 

"  Young  Regnier  was  not  at  the  casino  this 
afternoon,"  observed  Flora,  pluming  herself  be 
fore  a  mirror. 

"  No,  he  has  gone  away  for  a  week,"  returned 
Sylvia.  There  was  no  lack  of  vividness  now  in 
her  tone. 


A    TRANSATLANTIC    CHATELAINE.  151 

"  I  am  not  sorry,  dear,"  said  Flora  gravely, 
seating  herself  so  that  she  could  see  Sylvia's 
face.  "  People  have  begun  to  talk  about  you 
and  this  young  bourgeois.  You  know  that  even 
your  nationality  cannot  excuse  everything.  And 
these  morning  rides  "  — 

"  They  mean  nothing,"  interrupted  Sylvia. 
"  What  a  backbiting,  scandalous  world  this  is ! 
Has  it  already  begun  to  gossip  about  you  and 
your  new  acquaintance,  Monsieur  de  La  Roche  ? 
Tell  rne  if  you  really  found  him  as  engrossing 
as  you  seemed  to." 

She  bent  her  face  so  that  the  fragrance  of 
the  rose  in  her  berthe  reached  her.  It  was 
one  of  Maurice's  roses,  and  as  she  breathed  in 
its  perfume  she  listened  to  Flora's  enthusiastic 
praises  of  the  young  count.  After  a  while  she 
went  out  on  to  the  terrace,  into  the  moist,  starlit 
air.  The  far-off  hum  of  the  town  reached  her ; 
the  roll  of  carriages  mingled  with  the  regular 
cadence  of  the  waves.  She  tried  to  call  up 
Maurice's  image.  She  wondered  where  he  had 
gone,  and  if  he  would  disobey  her  and  write  to 
her  during  this  week.  She  must  make  up  her 
mind,  for  he  was  not  a  man  to  be  played  with. 
She  loved  his  impetuosity.  Then  she  began  to 
resolutely  turn  her  mind  to  the  future  ;  did  she 
love  him  enough  to  give  up  all  her  dreams  for 
him  ?  He  had  told  her  he  could  offer  a  stainless 


152          A    TRANSATLANTIC    CHATELAINE. 

name,  but  that  was  not  quite  enough  for  her  ambi 
tion.  A  famous  name,  even  with  a  stain  of  some 
tragic  sin,  some  glorious  failure,  seemed  less 
insipid  to  her.  Flora  had  spoken  of  him  as  a 
bourgeois.  Why  was  the  term  so  utterly  crush 
ing?  Could  she  be  contented  as  a  bouryeoise? 
Then  her  thoughts  slipped  away  to  the  chateau 
by  the  river ;  she  pictured  the  spreading  cedar, 
the  storied  building ;  but  the  most  vivid  impres 
sion  on  her  mind  was  the  memory  of  the  few 
unimportant  words  spoken  by  Philippe  de  La 
Roche  as  he  had  put  her  into  her  carriage ;  the 
strange  sensation  she  had  felt  of  his  authority  ; 
she  could  not  account  for  it.  Maurice,  all  un 
knowing,  had  painted  a  background  with  such 
magic  that  it  made  the  figure  to  which  it  be 
longed  that  of  a  hero. 

When  she  went  to  her  room  for  the  night  she 
found  Justine  in  a  flutter  of  excitement. 

"  I  trust  Madame  did  not  miss  me  when  she 
dressed  for  dinner.  I  had  to  go  away  and  pray ; 
I  owed  it  to  the  saints.  After  all  these  years, 
Madame,  I  have  found  one  of  my  own  family, 
my  brother's  son.  Oh,  he  is  almost  a  gentle 
man  ;  and  how  could  he  help  being,  placed,  as 
he  is,  in  one  of  our  noblest  families  ?  He  is  valet 
to  Monsieur  le  Comte  de  La  Roche." 

"  Why,  Justine,  you  chatter  like  a  girl.  1  am 
glad  you  are  pleased." 


A    TRANSATLANTIC    CHATELAINE.  153 

"  It  is  enough  to  make  any  one  pleased ;  I 
would  rather  have  my  nephew  a  servant  at  La 
Roche  than  secretary  to  the  emperor." 

"  Plow  the  name  haunts  me,"  thought  Sylvia, 
looking  at  her  image,  soft  in  the  light  of  the 
candles  by  the  mirror.  Her  eyes  had  an  expec 
tant  look.  From  one  of  the  white  roses,  more 
fully  blown  than  the  others,  a  petal  dropped 
softly.  She  looked  at  it  tenderly.  Justine, 
standing  just  behind  her,  spoke  in  a  muffled 
voice. 

"  Madame  knows  how  I  love  her  —  that  in 
spite  of  her  grandeur  and  beauty,  she  is  always 
to  me  my  baby  that  I  followed  over  the  ocean. 
She  will  not  be  angry  if  I  say  something  that 
lies  heavy  011  my  heart  ?  " 

"No,  dear  Justine,  never  angry  with  you. 
What  is  it  ?  " 

Sylvia  turned  to  face  her,  suddenly  pale  with 
a  vague  fear. 

"  You  will  promise  your  old  nurse  not  to 
marry  this  Captain  Regnier  until  you  know 
all  about  him  ?  The  Count  de  La  Roche  could 
tell  you  everything.  Marcel  could  tell  me  if  I 
pressed  him." 

"  I  cannot  see  why  you  think  of  such  a  thing, 
Justine.  I  certainly  will  marry  no  one  in  igno 
rance  of  his  position.  That  is  all  I  need.  Good 
night." 


154          A    TRANSATLANTIC   CHATELAINE. 

The  woman  crept  sullenly  away,  all  her  joy 
in  her  nephew's  appearance  spoiled  by  the  dis 
pleasure  in  her  mistress's  tone.  And  the  sweet 
elusive  melody  that  had  sung  in  Sylvia's  heart 
was  jarred  into  discord  by  the  suspicions  aroused 
by  Justine.  She  asked  herself,  why  had  Mau 
rice  suddenly  left  Trouville  after  swearing  in 
the  morning  that  nothing  should  take  him  away 
from  her  ?  Had  it  anything  to  do  with  the 
arrival  of  the  count,  who,  as  Justine  said,  knew 
all  about  him  ? 


CHAPTER  VII. 

THE  next  three  days  were  filled,  for  Sylvia, 
with,  a  strange  glamour,  bringing  new  sensa 
tions,  reviving  old  ambitions.  Nothing  seemed 
real.  The  savage,  treacherous  ocean  stretched 
itself  out  like  a  stage  background  ;  the  sun  set 
in  scenic  magnificence,  and  she  was  like  an  ac 
tress  in  the  midst,  who  had  to  wait  for  her  cue 
before  recalling  her  part.  Each  morning  a  clus 
ter  of  fresh  roses,  nowhere  sweeter,  more  regal 
than  at  Trouville,  brought  to  her  the  memory  of 
Maurice  ;  but  he  was  absent,  and  Philippe  was 
always  near  her,  —  and  roses  fade. 

There  was  a  succession  of  dainty,  luxurious 
breakfasts  and  dinners,  to  which  she  was  invited 
by  the  leaders  of  the  "  swim,"  almost  on  their 
knees,  for  the  lion  of  the  moment,  the  irresist 
ible  de  La  Roche,  refused  to  go  anywhere  with 
out  the  promise  of  meeting  the  lovely  American. 
She  was  the  queen  of  these  entertainments,  and 
felt  the  stimulus  that  comes  with  adulation. 
Hour  by  hour  she  grew  more  interested  in  the 
count.  He  spoke  to  her  of  France  and  his  hopes 
and  fears.  He  was  graver,  more  restrained  in  his 


156  A    TRANSATLANTIC    CHATELAINE. 

language  than  Maurice,  and  Sylvia,  imbued  with 
the  true  Anglo  -  Saxon  distrust  of  enthusiasm, 
deemed  him  more  sincere,  and  invested  him  with 
depths  of  patriotism  and  devotion.  lie  paid  her 
the  compliment  of  remembering  opinions  ex 
pressed  by  her,  and  discussing  them  afterwards 
with  wit  and  skill. 

At  this  time  Sylvia's  self  was  like  a  fair  for 
tress  :  two  opposing  forces  were  battling  for  it. 
On  Maurice's  side  were  those  qualities,  barely 
awake  after  their  long  sleep,  of  whose  over 
whelming  power  she  was  ignorant,  —  those  qual 
ities  which  give  the  ardent  love  of  a  pure  woman 
a  force  closely  allied  to  the  divine.  On  Phi 
lippe's  side  were  ranged  her  lifelong  idols,  fame 
and  honor ;  and  also  the  strength  of  her  temper 
ament,  which  stirred  her  tumultuously.  The  in 
tellectual  and  the  physical  fighting  the  spiritual, 
and  no  voice  to  teach  which  was  the  path  for 
her  to  take. 

She  was  not  unhappy,  but  restless  and  excited 
during  these  days.  At  night  her  dreams  were 
agitating,  and  she  never  lost  in  slumber  the 
monotonous  sound  of  the  waves.  She  felt  that 
a  crisis  was  approaching,  and  she  longed  for 
Maurice  to  come  back  and  help  her  to  a  deci 
sion.  She  was  free  as  air,  and  yet  she  saw  his 
brown  eyes  everywhere,  heavy  with  reproach. 
Where  was  he?  What  had  Justine  meant  bv 


A    TRANSATLANTIC    CHATELAINE.          157 

her  hints  ?  Why,  why  was  she  so  weak  as  to 
be  haunted  by  Flora's  derisive  term  bourgeois  ? 
Her  old  nurse  spoke  continually  of  the  count ; 
her  nephew  was  often  with  her  and  his  stories 
of  his  master's  gallantry  and  importance  lost 
nothing  in  the  telling. 

One  afternoon  Sylvia  felt  that  she  must  give 
herself  an  hour  for  thought,  for  decision,  and 
she  refused  to  go  to  the  casino  with  Flora. 
Alone  on  a  balcony  outside  of  her  own  room,  she 
set  herself  resolutely  to  think ;  but  her  eyes  wan 
dered  to  the  beach,  and  she  found  herself  idly 
watching  some  nursery-maids  and  their  charges 
digging  in  the  sands.  The  gay  world  was  hid 
den  from  her  by  the  roofs  of  neighboring  villas  ; 
but  the  wearying,  never  ending  strains  of  the 
strident  music  floated  above  these  obstacles. 

Suddenly  two  figures,  a  man  and  a  woman, 
came  within  the  field  of  her  vision,  from  behind 
some  rocks  at  the  end  farthest  away  from  the 
casino.  Even  at  this  distance  she  noticed  their 
absorption  of  manner,  their  heads  bent  towards 
each  other  as  they  moved  slowly  along.  As  she 
watched  with  awakening  interest  she  saw  them 
stop  abruptly,  and  strike  their  hands  together  as 
two  men  might  in  concluding  a  bargain ;  then 
they  resumed  their  walk,  more  rapidly,  and  were 
soon  lost  from  sight  behind  the  villas.  Maurice 
was  forgotten  in  the  wonder  as  to  what  Flora 


158          A    TRANSATLANTIC    CHATELAINE. 

and  the  count  were  plotting  together.  She  was 
alive  with  curiosity,  and  determined  to  ask  her 
friend  ;  but  when  Mrs.  Lee-Blair  arrived,  shortly 
after,  her  first  words  banished  all  former  thoughts. 
She  came  directly  to  Sylvia's  room,  and  joined 
her  on  the  balcony  ;  her  eyes  were  sparkling,  her 
whole  manner  breathed  triumph. 

"  Sylvia,  my  darling,  darling  child,"  she  said 
effusively,  and  then  sat  down  close  beside  her, 
kissed  her,  patted  her  hand,  all  the  time  casting 
significant  glances. 

"  You  have  something  to  tell  me,  Flora?  "  asked 
Sylvia,  roused  to  a  sudden  determination  by  these 
demonstrations. 

"  Yes,  my  sweetest  child  ;  the  best  thing  in 
the  whole  world  has  come  to  you,  and  I  am  happy 
and  grateful  to  be  the  bearer  of  the  good  tidings. 
Sylvia,  dearest,  the  Count  de  La  Roche  wishes 
to  marry  you." 

It  was  here,  this  crisis  towards  which  the  play 
had  been  moving,  and  still  with  a  sense  of  un 
reality,  Sylvia  found  the  words  of  her  part  as  if 
already  learned. 

"  I  am  profoundly  grateful,  but,  Flora  dear, 
don't  be  disappointed  ;  I  cannot  marry  Monsieur 
de  La  Roche." 

Mrs.  Lee  -  Blair's  face  blanched  suddenly. 
"  You  cannot  mean  that ;  you  know  nothing 
against  him  ?" 


A    TRANSATLANTIC    CHATELAINE.  159 

"  Oh,  no,  nothing,  nothing ;  that  is  not  the 
reason." 

"  Tell  me  then,  Sylvia,  your  real  reason.  I 
am  older  than  yon,  dear ;  I  am  in  a  way  respon 
sible  for  you.  Tell  me  why  you  refuse  one  of 
the  highest  titles  in  France  ?  " 

All  the  effect  of  a  woman  of  the  world  slipped 
from  Sylvia  ;  the  outside  dignity  fell  from  her 
like  a  discarded  garment,  leaving  her  shining 
with  the  innate  dignity  of  youth  and  love  ;  her 
face  flushed  divinely,  and  her  eyes  glowed  in 
their  violet  depths.  Her  head  drooped  a  little 
as  she  said,  "  Because,  Flora  dear,  I  am  begin 
ning  to  know  what  love  means,  and  to  believe 
that  I  owe  it  to  the  man  I  marry.  I  don't  love 
Monsieur  de  La  Roche." 

"  Is  that  all  ?  " 

"  Not  quite  all." 

"  Is  there  any  serious  obstacle,  Sylvia  ?  Do 
not  speak  without  thought ;  this  is  a  graver  mat 
ter  than  you  think." 

There  was  a  pause.  Sylvia  found  herself  with 
no  words.  "  What  is  a  serious  obstacle  ?  "  she 
pondered,  and  her  position  became  undefined  in 
her  estimation  as  she  tried  to  see  it  clearly.  At 
last  she  said  in  a  doubtful  tone,  "  No,  I  cannot 
say  that  there  is  anything  really  settled." 

"  Thank  God,"  breathed  Flora,  leaning  back 
in  her  chair.  The  moment  had  come  for  her  to 


160          A    TRANSATLANTIC   CHATELAINE. 

strike.  She  shrank  from  giving  pain,  and  had 
hoped  that  the  count's  offer  would  be  accepted 
without  delay,  and  that  she  might  thus  avoid  a 
duty  that  seemed  very  hard  to  her  ;  but  it  was 
not  to  be ;  she  must  speak.  "  Thank  God," 
she  repeated  still  more  fervently  ;  "  I  had  hoped, 
my  dear,  that  I  should  not  be  forced  to  tell  you 
something  exceedingly  disagreeable,  but  which 
would  have  been  absolute  agony  if  you  were 
bound  to  young  Regnier." 

The  same  distrust,  but  sharper,  now  came  to 
Sylvia  as  when  Justine  had  first  spoken. 

"  What  is  it  you  have  against  him  ?  Tell  me 
at  once  —  quick  !  " 

"  He  is  not  in  a  position  to  ask  you  to  marry 
him  ;  he  has  been  most  culpable  in  making  you 
conspicuous,  in  almost  compromising  you  by  his 
attentions.  De  La  Roche  is  so  in  love  with  you 
that  he  is  willing  to  overlook  it.  Besides,  he 
knows  Regnier  well  enough  to  see  how  things 
were  managed  by  him/' 

"  Tell  me  what  there  is  against  him,"  inter 
rupted  Sylvia,  maddened  by  the  delay. 

"  He  is  the  count's  illegitimate  brother." 

As  she  spoke,  Flora  experienced  a  horrible 
sense  of  guilt.  She  felt  that  Sylvia  was  entitled 
to  know  what  Philippe  had  told  her ;  but  the 
fact  that  she  herself  would  benefit  by  her  words, 
gave  her  a  feeling  that  she  was  doing  some- 


A    TRANSATLANTIC    CHATELAINE.  161 

thing  shabby.  It  seemed  brutal  to  put  things 
so  plainly,  and  yet  it  was  her  duty. 

It  appeared  a  long  time  to  her  before  Sylvia 
answered,  and  when  she  spoke  her  voice  was 
muffled. 

"  I  do  not  believe  it,"  she  said  slowly. 

"  It  is  dreadful,  but  it  is  true,  my  dear  child. 
The  former  count  went  so  far  as  to  divide  the 
property  between  the  two  sons.  La  Roche  is 
very  nice  speaking  of  it,  but  he  can't  help  feel 
ing  it." 

Sylvia  rose  and  entered  her  room  through  the 
long  window.  She  spoke  over  her  shoulder,  so 
that  Flora  did  not  see  her  face. 

"  We  dine  at  home  to-night,  don't  we  ?  Do 
give  a  look  at  the  table  and  see  if  all  is  right." 
Mrs.  Lee-Blair  rose  at  once,  accepting  her  dis 
missal.  She  could  not  judge  how  Sylvia  was 
affected  by  her  communication ;  she  only  knew 
that  the  count's  offer  was  refused,  and  the  stain 
on  Ilegnier's  birth  denied.  As  she  went  down 
stairs  a  panic  seized  her  regarding  her  future. 
If  Sylvia  really  loved  the  young  captain,  and 
persisted  in  marrying  him,  her  case  was  worse 
than  ever.  Vague  fears  of  being  thrown  into 
prison  for  debt  shook  her ;  she  had  cut  herself 
off  entirely  from  her  charge,  by  her  endeavors 
to  help  her.  She  knew  that  no  woman  ever  for 
gives  interference  such  as  hers,  if  it  is  ineffec 
tual. 


102  A    T  RAX*  ATLANTIC    CHATELAINE. 

She  entered  the  dining-room  half  dazed,  and 
saw  Justine  through  the  open  door  in  the  passage 
beyond.  She  called  and  beckoned  her  to  follow 
to  the  drawing-room.  Justine  obeyed  with  her 
heavy,  noiseless  tread,  and  stood  respectfully  on 
the  threshold. 

"  Come  here,  come  closer,"  said  Mrs.  Lee- 
Blair  half  hysterically,  sinking  into  a  chair. 

"  Justine,  oh,  Justine,"  she  murmured.  "  you 
must  go  at  once  to  your  mistress,  and  tell  her 
what  Marcel,  the  count's  valet,  has  told  you 
about  Captain  Kegnier.  I  am  afraid  she  will 
marry  him  in  spite  of  all  I  can  do." 

Justine's  square  face  and  stolid  features  did 
not  change,  but  her  deep-sunk  eyes  gave  a  sud 
den  wild  gleam. 

"  She  shall  not,"  she  said,  her  voice  low  and 
guttural.  "  She  was  not  made  to  marry  such  as 
he  ;  and  when  she  knows  all,  she  will  not  want 
to." 

Sylvia  had  not  moved  since  Flora  had  left 
her.  She  stood,  one  hand  resting  on  the  back 
of  a  chair,  her  head  bent,  her  eyes  fixed,  think 
ing,  thinking.  After  the  first  shock  a  great  sor 
row  had  come  into  her  heart  for  Maurice.  She 
pitied  him,  for  a  spirit  like  his  must  be  terribly 
galled  by  his  position.  Then  the  thought  came 
unbidden,  "  And  yet  he  has  tried  to  bring  me 
into  it  too." 


A    TRANSATLANTIC    CHATELAINE. 

Fast  on  the  heels  of  this  first  doubt  crowded 
others,  and  then  the  memory  of  his  words,  "  I 
can  offer  you  a  stainless  name,"  flashed  across 
her. 

"  I  do  not  want  to  believe  him  false,  I  will 
not,"  she  moaned  ;  "I  could  love  him  if  he  were 
true." 

There  was  a  faint  sound,  and  the  door  opened. 

"  I  do  not  need  you  yet,  Justine,"  said  Sylvia, 
very  gently.  She  did  not  wish  any  eye  to  rest 
on  her  in  this  hour  of  doubt  and  grief  ;  but  the 
old  woman  came  steadily  towards  her. 

"  You  may  turn  me  away  to  starve,"  she  be 
gan  abruptly,  "  but  I  did  not  bring  you  up  from 
your  cradle  to  see  you  throw  yourself  away  now. 
You,  fit  to  be  a  duchess,  a  queen,  —  you  must  not 
marry  this  captain." 

There  was  a  tone  of  assurance  about  her  that 
impressed  Sylvia ;  she  did  not  silence  her  as 
before. 

"  Then  you,  too,  believe  that  this  story  is  true 
about  Monsieur  Regnier's  birth  ?  "  she  asked. 

"  I  know  it  is  true.  The  moment  I  heard  the 
name  of  the  Comte  de  La  Roche  I  remembered 
something  I  had  known  long  ago.  I  have  been 
so  much  away  that  I  forget  things  sometimes. 
I  confused  it  at  first  with  something  else,  but 
my  nephew  Marcel  knew  all,  and  he  told  me. 
He  said  "  — 


164  A    TRANSATLANTIC    CHATELAINE. 

"  Stop,"  said  Sylvia  imperiously.  "  I  will 
hear  no  more.  Leave  me." 

Her  head  drooped  no  more ;  her  eyes  were  no 
longer  soft  with  sorrow,  but  a  dry,  angry  light 
burned  in  them.  She  heard  Justine  creep  out, 
and  then  she  went  across  the  room  towards  her 
dressing  -  table  with  almost  a  tigerish  sweep ; 
there  stood  the  roses,  Maurice's  gift,  fresh  that 
morning,  innocent  of  offense.  She  caught  them 
up,  and  with  a  swift,  fierce  movement  threw 
them  from  the  window.  The  action  seemed  to 
calm  her  a  little.  "  I  can  breathe  now,"  she 
said. 

It  seemed  to  her  impossible  to  remain  still. 
Up  and  down  the  room  she  went,  still  with  the 
suggestion  of  the  tiger  in  her  quick,  gliding  steps, 
her  head  turning  restlessly  from  side  to  side. 
Thoughts,  memories,  fancies  thronged  her  brain. 
He  had  made  her  conspicuous,  almost  compro 
mised  her.  He  had  lied  to  her.  If  his  love 
had  been  real,  how  could  he  have  sought  to  tie 
her  to  him  ?  No,  it  was  her  money,  not  she, 
that  had  attracted  him,  and  he  had  been  will 
ing  to  put  her  in  such  a  position  that  the  very 
servants  had  felt  justified  in  gossiping  about 
her.  This  mortification  maddened  her.  Oh,  if 
she  were  a  man  she  would  punish  him,  but  what 
could  a  poor,  helpless  woman  do  ?  Suddenly  she 
stopped  in  her  frantic,  aimless  walk  ;  she  could 


A    TRANSATLANTIC    CHATELAINE.          165 

do  something,  and  she  would.  She  would  be 
Countess  de  La  Roche.  That  was  to  be  Mau 
rice's  punishment. 

The  count  dined  with  them  that  night,  and 
neither  he  nor  the  other  guests  had  ever  seen 
la  belle  Americaine  so  beautiful  or  so  gay. 
Flora,  too,  was  in  high  spirits,  for  a  few  words 
from  Sylvia  just  before  dinner  had  raised  her 
from  her  despondent  mood,  and  colored  her 
future  once  more  with  golden  tints.  Oh,  yes, 
it  was  all  very  brilliant,  no  doubt.  The  table, 
gleaming  with  its  burden  of  fruit,  flowers,  and 
sparkling  glass  under  the  rose-shaded  candles  ; 
the  women  with  their  snowy  shoulders  and  shin 
ing  jewels,  the  soft  silks  shimmering  in  billows 
about  them.  The  sound  of  laughter,  the  easy 
ripple  of  talk,  and  underneath  the  warning  dash 
of  the  waves  on  the  beach  below,  which  seemed 
intrusive  with  its  daring  intimation  of  nature. 

To  Sylvia  it  brought  the  memory  of  some  play 
she  had  seen  long  ago,  where  the  music  and 
merriment  of  a  feast  are  heard  behind  the  scenes, 
while  the  tragedy  of  a  life  unfolds  before  the 
spectator's  eyes ;  only  here  it  was  the  tragedy 
which  was  hidden. 

She  did  not  realize  that  any  decisive  steps  had 
been  taken  until  the  guests  rose  to  say  good 
night,  when,  as  Philippe  bent  low  over  her 
hand,  he  raised  his  eyes  to  hers,  and  whispered, 


166          A    TRANSATLANTIC    CHATELAINE. 

"Thank  you/'  Then  she  knew  that  Flora  had 
found  time  to  speak,  and  that  her  freedom  was 
gone. 

She  kept  her  air  of  gayety  until  she  was  alone 
once  more,  but  she  had  not  been  able  to  speak 
of  her  future  even  to  Justine,  although  she  knew 
the  ecstasy  in  store  for  the  faithful  creature. 
When  at  last  her  door  closed,  and  she  was  again 
face  to  face  with  her  bitter  anger,  the  light  died 
from  her  eyes,  and  her  lips  met  tight  in  a  rigid 
line.  She  could  not  sleep,  and  throwing  open 
her  blinds  she  lay  staring  at  the  square  of  sky. 
There  was  the  Great  Bear,  slanting  across  the 
northern  heavens.  She  well  remembered  stand 
ing  with  Dick,  her  childhood's  friend,  on  the 
piazza,  as  he  taught  her  how  to  find  it.  The 
square  white  house  still  stood  tenantless  save  for 
the  careful  Deborah,  and  she  had  spoken  the 
words  which  pledged  her  to  make  her  home  in  a 
new  land,  on  new  soil.  Her  country  was  hers 
no  more  ;  the  hour  had  passed,  never  to  return, 
when  she  had  owned  the  right  to  suffer  for  it. 
Had  happy,  tender  memories  played  about  her 
youth,  her  regrets  now  had  been  of  a  softer 
nature,  but  there  was  only  a  severe  renuncia 
tion  in  her  heart  as  she  recalled  the  years  be 
hind  her.  She  had  always  been  unconsciously 
searching  for  some  object  on  which  to  lavish  her 
love  and  enthusiasm.  Her  father  had  repressed 


A    TRANSATLANTIC    CHATELAINE.  167 

any  demonstration  of  affection,  although  so  little 
tenderness  on  his  part  would  have  repaid  her 
doubly.  The  only  time  she  had  ever  felt  a  rea 
son  for  the  thrill  of  feeling  was  when  her  eyes 
met  those  of  Richard  Huntington,  as  he  raised 
them  to  hers  for  the  last  time,  on  his  steady, 
resolute  way,  to  die  for  his  flag.  In  a  few  hours 
those  stars  would  be  shining  on  the  summer 
fields  about  her  old  home,  as  unconcerned  and 
indifferent  there  as  here.  What  did  they  care 
for  human  agitations  and  distractions  ? 

Under  their  cold  light  Sylvia  became  more 
passive.  Happiness,  after  all,  was  more  a  ques 
tion  of  temperament  than  surroundings,  she  re 
flected,  and  resolved  to  give  to  the  country  of 
her  choice  all  the  ardent  enthusiasm  she  had  felt 
formerly  for  her  own  fatherland. 

She  would  find  her  ideal  in  her  future  hus 
band  ;  he  was  brave,  noble,  and  loyal.  Their 
mutual  aims  should  not  be  merely  a  selfish  grati 
fication  of  love  ;  they  would  look  higher.  She 
resolutely  put  Maurice  out  of  her  mind.  One 
more  meeting,  and  then  that  episode  belonged 
to  the  dead  past.  The  stars  grew  pale,  and  a 
breeze  came  with  the  dawn,  blowing  the  muslin 
curtains  into  the  room.  Sylvia  turned  her  face 
to  the  wall,  closed  her  hot  eyes,  and  slept  at  last. 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

IT  is  not  often  given  to  one  of  us  poor  feeble 
mortals  to  feel  the  serene  satisfaction  in  the 
result  of  our  well-doing  which  made  Flora  Lee- 
Blair  walk  as  if  on  air  during  the  days  fol 
lowing  Sylvia's  acceptance  of  Philippe.  He  too 
was  glowing  with  gratification  at  his  own  good 
luck,  although  his  spirits  were  a  trifle  subdued 
by  a  condition  his  future  bride  had  insisted  on 
making;  namely,  that  when  she  had  been  rec 
ognized  as  such,  and  suitably  welcomed  by  his 
mother,  she  would  telegraph  for  her  man  of  busi 
ness  and  consider  herself  formally  engaged,  but 
not  before.  He  had  a  clear  idea  of  the  difficulties 
before  him.  Not  only  would  Sylvia's  nationality 
be  an  awkward  obstacle,  but  her  religion  might 
prove  an  impassable  barrier  with  the  countess. 
Very  carefully,  with  infinite  skill  and  tact,  he 
opened  the  latter  subject,  treating  it  with  all  the 
delicacy  which  he  had  imbibed  from  the  priests 
in  his  conversations  with  them.  Sylvia  learned 
that  behind  the  music  and  incense,  the  shrines 
and  saints,  lay  a  beautiful  belief  of  which  they 
were  the  symbols  ;  she  reverenced  Philippe  for 


A    TRANSATLANTIC    CHATELAINE.         169 

the  reverence  he  showed  in  speaking  of  them, 
and  felt  stirred  by  his  well-chosen  words.  He 
spoke  always  dispassionately  to  her,  as  if  subdu 
ing  his  deeper  feelings  for  her  sake.  She  told 
him  frankly  that  he  was  influencing  her,  but 
would  promise  nothing  as  yet.  An  unsuspected 
loyalty  to  the  faith  of  her  fathers  stirred  within 
her.  Was  it  not  enough  to  renounce  everything 
else  ?  She  would  cling  to  that  until  convinced 
of  something  better. 

Philippe  saw  the  strength  beneath  the  yielding 
exterior,  and  concluded  not  to  press  matters. 
After  all,  there  were  many  ai-guments  he  could 
bring  up  against  those  of  his  mother ;  and  if 
Maurice  succeeded  in  getting  the  money  from 
his  father  things  might  be  delayed  a  little  with 
out  danger.  The  more  he  saw  of  Sylvia  in  the 
few  days  following  her  conditional  surrender  the 
surer  he  felt  of  her,  especially  as  Mrs.  Lee-Blair 
was  no  half-hearted  ally. 

"  Oh,  my  child,"  she  would  exclaim,  "  you 
are  very,  very  fortunate  !  Philippe  is  a  prize. 
Fancy  having  a  husband  like  him,  so  noble,  so 
good-looking.  I  can  quite  imagine  him  going  to 
the  guillotine,  like  Marie  Antoinette  and  that 
'  resurrection  and  the  life '  man  in  '  Tale  of  Two 
Cities,'  he  is  so  cairn  and  strong.  Then  think  of 
being  able  to  have  coronets  embroidered  on  all 
your  linen.  A  count's  coronet  may  not  be  quite 


170          .1    TRANSATLANTIC   CHATELAINE. 

as  distinguished  as  a  marquis's,  but  then  it  has 
seven  points,  and  one  in  diamonds  with  the  points 
tipped  with  rubies  would  be  too  awfully  lovely. 
Oh,  Sylvia,  God  has  been  very,  very  good  to 
you." 

Then  the  kindly,  frivolous  creature  would  wipe 
away  a  genuine  tear  very  carefully,  so  that  it 
might  not  interfere  with  her  complexion,  and 
flutter  off,  grateful  for  the  part  that  she  had  been 
allowed  to  play  in  this  great  scheme. 

Justine  received  the  news  of  her  mistress's 
future  plans  with  a  joy  almost  unnatural  in  its 
quiet  ecstasy. 

"  I  have  prayed  for  everything  good  for  my 
child,  and  the  saints  hear  ;  praise  be  to  Mary. 
I  felt  that  she  would  be  great  and  noble  when  I 
first  took  her  in  my  arms,  only  a  baby,  but  with 
the  seal  on  her  forehead.  Now  I  know  why  it 
was  that  I  was  sent  to  those  desolate  shores  to 
watch  over  her,  to  bring  her  here  for  great 
things." 

Three  days  more  slipped  by,  no  definite  step 
being  taken.  Philippe  intended  to  wait  for 
Maurice's  return  before  going  to  see  his  mother, 
and  excused  himself  to  Sylvia  for  his  delay  by 
pleading  the  distress  it  caused  him  to  think  of 
leaving  her.  She  accepted  his  flattering  apology 
with  her  usual  graciousness,  which  had  always  a 
touch  of  aloofness  in  it.  She  felt  that  until  she 


A    TRANSATLANTIC    CHATELAINE.         171 

saw  Maurice  it  would  be  impossible  for  her  to 
adjust  her  mind  to  her  future  life ;  that  dreaded 
interview  with  him  must  be  behind  her  ere  she 
could  feel  settled  and  content.  Regarding  Phi 
lippe  she  was  satisfied  that  her  choice  was  a  pru 
dent  one.  Pie  suited  her  taste  from  every  point 
of  view.  He  never  jarred  on  her,  never  showed 
himself  as  opposed  to  her  in  any  way,  making 
even  the  delicate  question  of  their  religions  easy. 
She  did  not  reflect  that  when  he  was  absent  it  was 
of  his  name,  bis  castle,  and  his  position  that  she 
dreamed,  not  of  him  ;  for  when  they  were  together 
his  dominant  virility  exercised  a  strong  influence, 
and  she  mistook  for  symptoms  of  love  what  were 
in  fact  but  natural  impulses.  His  relations  with 
Flora  puzzled  her  a  little.  When  they  were  all 
three  together  he  and  Mrs.  Lee-Blair  preserved 
a  cold  formality  of  manner  which  was  contra 
dicted  by  the  familiar  attitude  into  which  they 
seemed  to  fall  naturally  when  alone,  and  in  which 
Sylvia  had  once  or  twice  surprised  them.  But 
she  was  not  apt  to  be  suspicious,  and  did  not 
dwell  on  this  subject. 

One  evening  he  announced  his  intention  of  leav 
ing  Trouville  the  following  day,  for  Touraine ; 
he  said  that  he  felt  like  a  coward  in  having  post 
poned  it  for  so  long,  but  did  not  add  that  he  had 
received  a  telegram  from  Maurice  announcing 
his  return  that  same  nijjht. 


172          A    TRANSATLANTIC    CHATELAINE. 

Yet  this  arrival  meant  an  important  moment 
in  three  lives. 

For  the  first  time  Maurice  had  chafed  at  being: 

O 

under  his  father's  roof,  and  had  found  the  hours 
drag  heavily.  He  had  determined  to  keep  his 
own  counsel  regarding  his  hopes  and  fears,  but 
the  last  night  at  home,  a  fleeting  look  of  disap 
pointment  or  wounded  feelings  on  the  face  he 
loved  and  honored  so  deeply  broke  down  his  re 
serve,  and,  withholding  her  name  and  nationality, 
he  told  his  father  of  his  passionate  love  for  Syl 
via,  and  how  it  hung  in  the  balance.  The  older 
man  was  deeply  moved,  and  seemed  shaken  by  the 
communication,  but  he  gave  his  sympathy  and 
good  wishes  generously.  When  they  parted  the 
next  morning  he  only  asked  wistfully  that  Mau 
rice  would  telegraph  him  his  success,  —  "  for  I 
am  sure  no  one  can  resist  you,  my  boy,"  he  said 
with  rather  a  trenmlous  laugh. 

Not  twenty-four  hours  later  came  the  message, 
"  Have  failed  ;  shall  try  to  get  exchanged  into 
African  regiment.  —  M."  That  was  all,  and  the 
sender,  blinded  by  his  own  grief  and  disappoint 
ment,  gave  little  heed  to  the  pain  the  words 
bore.  Perhaps  it  is  as  well  that  children  are 
selfish  sometimes  ;  if  they  knew  the  pain  their 
sorrows  cause,  it  would  double  them,  and  like 
two  mirrors  reflecting  one  another,  woes  would 
continue  multiplying  until  the  whole  world  be 
came  one  vast  moan. 


A    TRANSATLANTIC    CHATELAINE.         173 

Maurice,  cheered  by  his  father's  confidence  in 
his  success  with  Sylvia,  came  back  to  Trouville 
full  of  exultant  hopes,  so  overflowing  with  them 
that  there  was  no  room  for  fear  or  aoubt  to  creep 
in.  His  love  for  Sylvia  was  so  intense,  so  vital, 
that  it  seemed  an  impossibility  it  should  not 
have  an  overpowering  effect  on  her.  She  must 
return  it !  It  was  too  clearly  heaven-sent  not  to 
be  irresistible.  To  -  morrow,  to  -  morrow  !  sang 
the  wheels  of  the  train  that  bore  him  back  to 
her.  To-morrow!  to-morrow!  whispered  the 
night  wind  creeping  in  from  the  sea,  as  he  stood, 
late  as  it  was,  before  her  villa,  so  as  to  slip  under 
the  door  with  his  own  hand  a  note  to  tell  her 
of  his  return,  and  of  his  wish  to  see  her  in  the 
morning.  He  stood  in  the  dark  gazing  up  at 
her  window  ;  behind  the  closed  blinds  perhaps 
she  slept  and  dreamt  of  him.  Or  better  still, 
she  woke,  and  thought  of  him.  Ah,  it  is  good 
to  be  young  and  love  with  passion  ;  it  broadens 
and  ennobles,  even  if  Sorrow  follows,  blotting 
out  the  rapturous  memories  with  her  tears. 

But  there  was  no  hint  that  anything  but  joy 
was  in  store  for  him  to  disturb  Maurice  as  he  at 
last  turned  away  from  the  rnagic  spot,  and  went 
back  to  his  hotel.  He  thought  over  every  de 
tail  of  her  appearance  as  he  had  last  seen  her. 
How  young  and  approachable  she  had  seemed  in 
her  riding-habit  and  round  hat ;  how  freshly  the 


174          A    TRANSATLANTIC    CHATELAINE. 

color  came  and  went  in  her  cheeks ;  what  a  soft 
sheen  was  on  her  dark  hair,  closely  coiled  in  her 
neck. 

He  had  forgotten  Philippe,  his  errand,  every 
thing  but  Sylvia  for  the  moment,  when  the  sight 
of  the  sleepy  night-clerk,  handing  him  his  candle, 
woke  him  up  from  his  visions.  "  No,"  the  man 
replied  to  his  question,  "  Monsieur  le  Comte  de 
La  Roche  was  not  yet  in  ;  did  Monsieur  le  Capi- 
taine  desire  to  leave  any  message  for  him  ?  "  80 
Maurice  left  word  that  he  had  returned,  and 
would  be  with  him  in  the  morning,  and  went  to 
sleep,  breathing  the  one  name  in  all  the  world 
to  him. 

He  had  been  moderately  successful  in  his 
quest,  for  his  father  had  advanced  Philippe  about 
half  the  sum  he  had  called  for ;  but  he  had  made 
it  plain  to  his  son  that  although  this  was  not  the 
first  drain  that  the  young  count  had  made  on  his 
purse,  it  should  be  the  last. 

"  I  have  already  given  him  back,  franc  for 
franc,  nearly  the  entire  sum  left  me  by  his  father, 
which  helped  me  to  build  up  my  fortune.  His 
mother  knows  that  he  has  applied  to  me  for  help, 
and  I  have  promised  her  that  I  would  give  him 
nothing  more.  I  should  be  firm  now,  had  you 
not  pledged  your  word,  my  boy ;  but  if  either 
break  faith,  I  prefer  to  be  the  one." 

He  followed  up  these  words  with  a  short  ao- 


A    TRANSATLANTIC    CHATELAINE.  175 

count  of  Philippe's  life  of  reckless  self-indul 
gence,  softening  nothing1,  for  he  wished  to  im 
press  Maurice  with  his  own  disgust  that  the 
name  which  should  stand  so  high  was  thus  dab 
bled  in  the  mud  of  the  gutter. 

Any  tales  of  ordinary  extravagance  and  excess 
would  have  found  excuses  in  Maurice's  heart ; 
youth  generally  obeys  the  esprit  de  corps  which 
bids  it  take  the  part  opposed  to  age.  But  Mau 
rice  had  a  nature  which  recoiled  from  degrading 
details,  and  the  deliberate  statements  made  by 
his  father  destroyed  once  and  for  all  the  hero- 
worship  he  had  felt  for  Philippe. 

It  was  with  the  feeling  that  he  was  the  su 
perior,  not  the  count,  that  he  followed  Marcel 
the  next  morning  to  his  master's  room.  His 
mind  was  too  much  occupied  in  thinking  of  his 
coming  interview  with  Sylvia  to  notice  the  change 
of  attitude  assumed  by  Philippe :  a  week  ago  he 
had  come  humbly  for  him,  to  ask  a  favor ;  to-day 
he  sent  as  to  a  tradesman  to  know  the  result. 
Perhaps  Maurice  would  not  have  been  struck  by 
this  at  any  other  time,  for  he  was  only  suspicious 
on  rare  and  obvious  occasions ;  but  his  eyes  hav 
ing  been  opened  by  his  father,  he  could  not  help 
shrugging  his  shoulders  slightly  when  he  entered 
the  count's  bedroom,  at  the  luxurious  surround 
ings  of  a  man  half  ruined  financially. 

Philippe  was  still  in  bed.    On  a  table  by  his 


176          A    TRANSATLANTIC    CHATELAINE. 

side  was  a  silver  tray  on  which  stood  his  early 
cup  of  coffee  :  every  detail  of  the  service  was  in 
Louis  XVI.  silver,  delicately  wrought  with  gar 
lands  and  bow-knots.  lie  himself  was  gorgeous 
in  pale  blue  silk,  and  his  toilet  articles,  just  ar 
ranged  by  Marcel,  were  in  ebony  and  gold.  His 
morning's  mail  was  scattered  about  the  bed,  and 
he  kept  his  eyes  on  a  letter  he  held,  even  while 
he  said  :  "  Ah,  Maurice,  glad  that  you  are  back 
at  last.  You  may  go,  Marcel.  Open  the  other 
window  first ;  it  is  infernally  hot  to-day." 

As  he  finished,  he  read  the  last  word  of  the 
letter,  returned  it  to  its  envelope,  and  waited 
until  Marcel  had  left  the  room  ;  then  his  tone 
took  on  a  touch  more  of  eagerness  as  he  said, 
"Well,  any  luck?" 

"  More  than  I  expected,  less  than  you  hoped 
for." 

"  How  much  ?  " 

"  Forty  thousand." 

Philippe  gave  a  low  whistle.  "  I  suppose  I 
can  worry  along  with  that ;  it 's  deuced  little, 
though." 

His  words  implied  disappointment,  but  he  took 
it  very  coolly.  Maurice  looked  at  him  keenly 
for  a  moment ;  he  wondered  if  he  meant  to 
accept  the  loan,  made  by  his  father  at  some  in 
convenience,  without  a  word  of  gratitude  to  the 
old  man. 


A    TRANSATLANTIC    CHATELAINE.          177 

Philippe  resumed :  "  Have  you  the  money 
here  ?  " 

"  Yes." 

"  In  notes  or  a  cheque  ?  " 

"  In  notes  ;  I  cashed  my  father's  cheque  in 
Paris  yesterday.  You  will  have  the  kindness  to 
sign  a  receipt  for  them." 

"  Oh,  of  course ;  hand  me  that  writing-case 
there,  will  you  ?  —  thanks.  Have  you  a  form 
made  out  ?  " 

"  No,"  answered  Maurice,  irritated  by  the 
other's  manner  and  marked  callousness.  "  You 
ought  to  know  how  to  word  it  well  enough." 

"Yes,"  drawled  Philippe,  as  his  pen  flew  over 
the  paper,  "  I  've  had  plenty  of  experience  in 
this  sort  of  thing.  There,  it 's  signed  and  dated. 
Does  it  suit  you?  " 

"  Yes,"  returned  Maurice  as  shortly  as  before, 
when  he  had  read  what  Philippe  had  written. 
"  Now  be  good  enough  to  count  these  bills." 

He  flung  a  heavy  roll  on  to  the  bed  ;  the  count 
went  through  them  once  methodically,  then  a 
second  time.  "  They  're  all  right." 

"  Good-morning,  then." 

"  Are  you  going  ?     Can't  you  stop  a  little  ?  " 

"  No,  I  'm  in  a  hurry,"  answered  Maurice,  his 
hand  on  the  door-handle. 

"  Good-by,  then  ;  and  oh,  I  say,  wait  a  bit. 
Present  my  most  respectful  thanks  to  your  father 


178         A    TRANSATLANTIC    CHATELAINE. 

when  you  write,  and  tell  him  how  grateful  I 
am,"  called  Philippe,  but  he  received  no  answer, 
and  was  doubtful  if  his  tardy  thanks  were  ever 
heard. 

Chafing  at  the  insolence  and  ingratitude  with 
which  he  had  been  met,  Maurice  left  the  hotel 
as  rapidly  as  possible,  and  going  on  to  the  sands, 
deserted  at  this  hour,  lounged  there  until  it  would 
not  be  too  unconventionally  early  to  seek  Sylvia. 
The  morning  was  very  hot ;  already  the  heated 
air  rose  from  the  rocks,  making  the  objects  be 
hind  it  glimmer  and  shimmer ;  the  ocean  lay 
heaving  slightly,  untouched  by  a  breath  of  wind, 
and  seemed  too  exhausted  to  do  more  than  break 
in  languid  little  waves  on  the  sand. 

For  the  twentieth  time  Maurice  looked  at  his 
watch,  and  at  last  decided  that  he  might  climb 
the  cliff  and  enter  the  villa  at  which  he  had  been 
staring.  There  was  a  slight  land  breeze  higher 
up,  and  the  interior  of  the  house  felt  cool  and 
refreshing  as  the  butler  ushered  him  through 
the  hall  and,  throwing  open  the  salon  door,  an 
nounced  him. 

The  room  was  darkened,  and  at  first  lie  was 
conscious  only  of  a  scent  of  flowers  and  a  faint 
light  in  one  corner.  Then  as  his  dazzled  eyes 
grew  used  to  the  obscurity,  he  saw  that  the  light 
came  from  Sylvia's  white  dress,  and  that  she 
was  looking  at  him  intently. 


A    TRANSATLANTIC    CHATELAINE.  179 

"  I  did  not  see  you  at  first :  I  was  blinded  !  " 
he  exclaimed,  going  towards  her.  As  he  drew 
near,  her  long  dark  lashes  drooped  on  her 
cheeks,  and  when  he  raised  her  hand  to  his 
lips,  she  murmured  a  scarcely  audible  word  of 
greeting.  lie  sat  for  a  while  without  speaking, 
looking  at  her  ardently,  hungrily,  and  withal 
humbly.  lie  wondered  at  his  own  fortitude  in 
deliberately  banishing  himself  for  a  week.  She 
sat  impassive  under  his  gaze,  her  eyes  still 
veiled.  He  saw  now  every  detail  of  her  delicate 
beauty,  and  noticed  the  ivory-like  gleam  of  her 
rounded  arms  showing  through  the  loose  drapery 
of  her  muslin  dress ;  the  arch  of  her  instep  in 
its  openwork  stocking  ;  the  beautiful  lines  in 
which  the  hair  grew  on  her  temples  and  just 
over  her  dainty  ear.  He  was  mad  with  longing 
and  doubt,  while  she  sat  as  motionless  as  a  statue, 
a  bunch  of  white  carnations  on  her  bosom  barely 
stirring  with  her  breath.  How  was  he  to  know 
the  passion  of  resentment  and  anger  under  this 
cool  exterior  ?  The  only  movement  that  betrayed 
agitation  was  the  tremulous  action  of  her  hands 
as  she  opened  and  shut  a  tortoise-shell  fan. 

She  had  steeled  herself  for  this  interview,  and 
until  she  saw  Maurice  had  thought  that  she  could 
control  all  signs  of  emotion.  She  had  decided 
to  give  no  explanation  of  the  reasons  which  had 
led  her  to  refuse  him  ;  she  would  be  cold  and 


180  A    TRANSATLANTIC    CHATELAINE. 

firm.  But  when  she  saw  him  all  her  soul  was 
in  a  tumult ;  she  dreaded  the  mere  sound  of  his 
voice.  She  did  not  wish  to  be  shaken,  to  be 
tempted.  She  believed  him  false,  and  any  ten 
der  feeling  coming  now  into  her  heart  would 
make  her  false  to  herself.  He  should  not  have 
that  power  at  least.  But  she  hated  him,  to  think 
that  in  spite  of  all  resolves  some  power  was 
his ;  that  she  dared  not  fully  meet  his  glance  ; 
that  merely  his  presence  shook  her  before  he 
had  spoken  ;  and  that  his  voice,  in  speaking  the 
simple  words  of  greeting,  had  made  her  shiver. 
This  man,  who  might  have  meant  so  much  to 
her,  had  deceived  her,  had  humbled  her  in  her 
own  eyes  and  had  almost  succeeded  in  making 
her  a  jest  for  the  world. 

Maurice  spoke  at  last.  How  should  he  know 
that  this  reserve  meant  hidden  fury  ?  He 
thought  that  it  expressed  her  readiness  to  hear 
him  tell  his  love,  if  not  to  respond  to  it. 

"  Sylvia,"  he  said,  "  have  you  no  welcome  for 
me,  no  word  ?  Do  you  know  what  this  week  has 
meant  to  me  ?  a  very  purgatory,  and  now  I  come 
to  you  to  tell  me  if  heaven  or  hell  lies  beyond." 

"  I  consented  to  see  you,  Monsieur,  because 
your  letters  made  me  think  that  you  attach  more 
importance  to  a  few  words  I  spoke  last  week 
than  they  deserve.  I  was  carried  away  by  the 
beauty  of  the  morning,  the  quick  ride,  —  how 


A    TRANSATLANTIC    CHATELAINE.         181 

can  I  tell  what  ?  —  and  perhaps  a  little  infected 
by  your  enthusiasm.  But  really  that  is  an  epi 
sode  that  is  passed,  and  should  leave  no  trace." 

She  paused,  and  clattered  the  sticks  of  her 
fan  against  each  other. 

Maurice  sat  silent  for  a  moment,  a  look  of 
incredulity  and  wounded  feeling  in  his  eyes. 

"Then,  Sylvia,"  he  said,  "you  are  ungenerous 
to  play  with  me  like  this.  If  you  could  know 
what  you  are  to  me  —  how  I  adore  you  —  what 
you  mean  in  my  life  —  you  would  be  merciful, 
and  drop  this  trifling.  It  is  unworthy  of  you." 

"  How  shall  I  express  myself,  then  ? "  she 
asked,  always  looking  down.  "  In  plain  words, 
I  find  that  I  do  not  care  for  you  —  that  I  am 
incapable  of  loving  you." 

For  the  first  time  he  began  to  feel  the  fear  of 
losing  her. 

"  For  God's  sake  don't  say  that.  You  could 
love  me  —  you  could  not  resist  my  love  —  if  you 
would  only  try." 

"  Perhaps.     But  why  should  I  try  ?  " 

There  was  almost  a  sneer  in  her  voice  now. 

"  Why  !  you  ask  me  why  ?  Are  my  feelings 
nothing  to  you  ?  is  my  love  nothing1  ?  "  he  de 
manded. 

"Nothing,"  she  answered  composedly. 

"  What  has  changed  you  in  this  short  time  ? 
A  week  ago  you  were  nearly  yielding  —  you  did 


182  A    T R AX X ATLANTIC    CH  AT  KLAJXF.. 

love  me  last  Thursday,  by  Heaven  you  did  ! 
Give  me  some  reason  for  this  alteration.  I  de 
mand  it !  " 

"  You  are  not  entitled  to  demand  anything, 
Monsieur  Regnier.  If  I  was  foolish  enough  to 
give  way  last  week  to  the  influence  of  a  delight 
ful  morning,  and  a  most  eloquent  companion,  I 
should  be  blamed  for  what  I  did  then,  not  for 
what  I  am  doing  to-day  when  I  am  trying  to 
repair  my  fault." 

He  drew  a  deep  breath,  and  leaning  his  elbow 
on  a  table  near  him,  covered  his  eyes  with  his 
hand.  Under  all  her  anger,  Sylvia's  womanly 
heart  could  not  repress  a  throb  of  sympathy  at 
this  sound  of  suffering.  She  raised  her  eyes 
and  looked  at  him  furtively,  ready  to  avert  her 
gaze  at  his  least  movement.  How  forlorn  he 
looked,  and  how  young,  poor  boy. 

Impulsively  she  spoke  again.  "  Don't  feel  so 
badly,  Maurice  ;  I  'm  not  worth  it.  I  am  not 
even  ice,  for  that  can  be  melted.  I  am  granite, 
like  my  native  hills.  Now  go  away,  forget  me, 
and  some  day  you  will  thank  Heaven  I  saved 
you  from  myself." 

As  he  listened  his  heart  beat  high  with  hope. 
She  had  spoken  in  gentler  accents,  she  had 
called  him  by  his  name.  liaising  his  head  he 
made  one  final  effort,  and  he  believed  that  it 
would  be  successful. 


A    TRANSATLANTIC    CHATELAINE.          188 

"  Hear  me  a  moment,  Sylvia,"  he  began ; 
"  think  before  you  sacrifice  my  love  for  your 
ambition.  It  is  true  that  I  cannot  give  you 
high  position  ;  but  my  name  is  honorable,  and 
oh,  my  darling,  I  love  you  so  truly,  so  deeply, 
that  no  woman  on  earth  ever  had  such  devotion 
laid  at  her  feet  before." 

The  old  feelings,  but  intensified,  returned  as 
she  heard  his  words.  He  dared  try  again  to 
deceive  her.  She  shivered  internally,  endeavor 
ing  to  maintain  the  calm  dignity  she  had  as 
sumed,  so  as  not  to  betray  her  crushed,  bleeding- 
pride.  Maurice  saw  her  grow  a  shade  paler, 
and  the  long  lashes  quiver  on  her  cheek.  He 
thought  she  hesitated,  and  his  courage  grew. 

"  Listen  to  me  a  moment.  Do  not  send  me 
away  until  I  have  given  you  a  little  glimpse  of 
what  love,  true,  Heaven-sent  love  —  love  like 
mine  for  you  —  means.  It  is  many  sided  :  I  have 
had  this  long  week  to  look  at  it  in  all  its  phases. 
I  love  you  with  the  ardor  of  a  lover,  and  with  the 
purity  of  a  worshiper.  I  give  you  the  admira 
tion  your  beauty,  your  daintiness,  call  forth  ;  but 
no  dull  detail  of  every-day  life  could  dim  your 
radiance  in  my  eyes.  My  love  is  strong  ;  loss  of 
youth,  of  grace,  cannot  weaken  it.  Sylvia,  I  am 
not  offering  you  only  the  passion  of  a  few  years, 
I  am  laying  at  your  feet  the  devotion  of  a  lifetime. 
Before  you  say  no  to  me,  think  what  it  is  to  know 


184  A    TRANSATLANTIC    CHATELAINE. 

that  for  one  person  in  the  world  you  can  do 
no  wrong,  can  never  lose  your  charm,  will  stand 
first  in  his  heart  through  time  and  eternity." 

She  was  sorely  shaken.  Her  intellect,  her 
pride,  and  her  god  ambition  drew  her  from  him. 
Her  heart  pleaded  for  him  ;  it  beat  tumulttiously 
while  she  spoke  ;  it  told  her  that  his  words  rang 
true.  But  the  ugly  fact  remained  that  he  had 
been  false  in  one  respect  —  why  not  in  all  ? 
Should  she  give  up  all  her  lifelong  dreams  of 
greatness  for  a  reality  more  unsubstantial  than 
a  dream  ?  And  under  these  dominant  thoughts 
lay  a  fear  of  the  capabilities  in  herself. 

"  I  have  listened  to  you  patiently,  Monsieur  ; 
you  must  now  listen  to  me.  Love  is  a  myth, 
very  pretty,  but  not  for  me.  You  are  wasting 
your  time  here,  —  as  I  have  just  said,  I  am 
hard.  For  a  moment  your  words  stirred  my 
superficial  emotions  ;  but  I  am  immovable.  You 
must  understand  my  life  plan  before  you  can  go 
away  satisfied  :  my  heart  is  with  the  high  ones 
in  this  world.  I  want  to  be  identified  with  a 
cause,  and  if  I  ever  marry,  it  will  be  some  one 
who  can  give  me  a  great  name,  and  can  open 
great  possibilities  to  me.  Love  and  I  have  no 
thing  in  common." 

"  You  would  sell  yourself  for  a  title,  then  ?  " 
said  Maurice  bitterly. 

"  Yes  ;  I  always  fancied  that  a  handkerchief 


A    TRANSATLANTIC    CHATELAINE.          185 

with  a  coronet  on  it  would  dry  my  tears  before 
they  could  fall." 

She  spoke  lightly,  hoping  to  bring  the  inter 
view  to  a  calm  ending.  She  thought  she  might 
turn  him  off  ;  but  she  was  mistaken.  He  felt 
that  this  would  be  his  only  opportunity,  and  de* 
termined  to  leave  no  stone  unturned.  So,  con 
trolling  himself  with  difficulty,  he  spoke  in  a 
more  commonplace  manner. 

"  I  should  be  less  urgent  if  I  thought  that  you 
had  the  least  idea  of  what  you  are  talking  about. 
What  are  the  great  names  in  France  to-day,  and 
what  do  they  mean  ?  Almost  nothing.  Your 
own  country  has  taught  us  a  lesson." 

"  If  the  great  names  mean  nothing,"  inter 
rupted  Sylvia,  "  I  suppose  the  little  names  mean 
less."  She  wished  that  he  would  leave  her.  She 
had  forced  herself  to  speak  gently  to  him,  but 
he  would  not  take  her  dismissal,  and  was  driving 
her  wild  with  his  persistency,  backed  as  it  was  by 
the  voice  of  her  deepest  nature,  crying  to  her  in 
words  she  could  not,  or  would  not,  understand. 

"  No,"  said  Maurice  to  her  last  remark,  — 
"  no  ;  to-day  our  country  gives  us  all  a  chance 
to  make  a  name,  even  if  we  have  not  inherited 
one.  Oh,  Sylvia,  think  what  I  could  do  with 
your  help.  Would  you  not  feel  proud  to  hear 
me  spoken  of  as  one  of  the  poets  of  France,  if  I 
were  your  husband  ?  I  have  no  coronet  to  offer 


18G          ,-1    TRANSATLANTIC   CHATELAINE. 

you  ;  but  if  I  were  crowned  with  the  bays  of  the 
Immortals  "  — 

"  This  is  folly,  and  worse,"  she  broke  in.  "  I 
have  been  patient ;  but  you  have  no  pity  on 
me.  Is  it  so  impossible  for  you  to  understand 
that  my  mind  is  fixed  ?  " 

She  rose  as  she  spoke,  and  faced  him  for  the 
first  time.  She  felt  that  her  emotions  were  get 
ting  the  upper  hand.  She  was  losing  her  self- 
control,  and  the  interview  must  come  to  an  end. 
Maurice  looked  at  her,  the  mad  longing  in  his 
heart  growing  stronger.  There  was  a  haughty 
poise  to  her  head  that  seemed  the  refinement  of 
provocation.  He  was  desperate  now :  it  was  lose 
all  or  gain  all.  He  had  a  dim  idea  that  if  once 
he  could  hold  her  in  his  arms,  once  cover  her  face 
with  kisses,  crush  it  savagely  almost,  against  his 
own,  that  his  love  would  win.  She  could  not 
resist  its  contagion.  He  stood  before  her,  the 
memory  of  her  words  in  the  sunken  lane  ringing 
in  his  ears :  "  I  promise  you  a  kiss  the  next  time 
we  meet  —  either  it  will  be  one  of  good-by  for 
ever,  or  it  will  tell  you  that  I  love  you  as  entirely 
as  you  do  me."  Would  she  remember  her  prom 
ise,  too  ?  There  was  a  sense  of  compelling  her 
to  do  so  as  he  stood  there  silent  and  grim  in  his 
uncertainty. 

The  echo  of  that  promise  came  to  her  also. 
She  had  remembered  it  in  fear  all  through  the 


A    TRANSATLANTIC    CHATELAINE.  187 

interview,  hoping,  almost  praying,  that  he  would 
not  recall  it.  But  now  his  waiting  attitude  told 
her  plainly  that  it  was  as  vivid  to  him  as  to  her. 
She  had  been  pale,  but  now  the  blood  rushed  to 
her  cheek,  crimsoning  it,  her  eyelids  quivered 
and  fell,  and  her  hand  tightened  about  her  fan. 

"  Ungenerous,"  she  whispered,  but  he  did  not 
hear  her.  He  only  saw  signs  of  relenting  in  her 
confusion,  and  in  another  moment  his  arms  were 
round  her. 

She  shrank  from  him,  a  look  in  her  face  that 
he  could  not  read.  If  she  had  blushed  a  moment 
ago  she  was  white  now,  the  color  leaving  even 
her  lips,  which  scarcely  opened  to  let  the  word 
"  Coward !  "  slip  through,  while,  hardly  know 
ing  what  she  did,  driven  to  a  frenzy,  she  struck 
his  face  with  her  fan.  Maurice  dropped  his 
arms  to  his  side,  drew  himself  up,  and  before  she 
turned  swiftly  away,  she  saw  him  whiten  under 
his  brown  skin,  only  a  pale  red  streak  showing 
where  her  blow  had  fallen.  She  swept  down 
the  room,  but  as  she  reached  the  door  she  heard 
his  voice  :  "  Stop,  Madame  !  there  is  one  word 
you  must  take  back  before  we  part.  Call  me 
anything  you  like,  but  not  — coward." 

"  The  word  is  spoken,"  she  retorted,  looking 
over  her  shoulder. 

"  If  you  will  not  recall  it  now,  by  Heaven 
you  shall  before  cither  of  us  dies,"  said  Maurice, 


188          A    TRANSATLANTIC    CHATELAINE. 

and  as  he  spoke  he  pushed  open  the  long  blind 
opening  on  to  the  terrace,  and  stepped  out  into 
the  dazzling  heat  of  the  sun. 

Sylvia  moved  vaguely  forward,  and  then  sank 
on  to  the  nearest  chair.  All  her  self-control 
had  been  but  surface  deep.  She  could  subdue 
her  voice,  choose  her  words,  veil  the  anger  of 
her  eyes,  but  she  was  powerless  over  the  turbu 
lent  riot  of  her  heart.  She  hated  Maurice  with 
an  intensity  which  frightened  her.  She  could 
have  killed  him  in  her  excitement.  Her  whole 
body  felt  alive  with  physical  suffering ;  tremors 
attacked  each  nerve,  and  she  could  hear  the 
quick  beats  of  her  heart,  throbbing  in  her  ears. 
For  a  time  she  remained  very  still  outwardly, 
but  as  her  agitation  abated  she  became  more 
conscious  of  her  surroundings,  and  noticed  that 
her  hand  was  grasping  something  so  tightly  that 
it  hurt  her.  Looking  down  she  saw  the  fan. 
A  wave  of  shame,  of  fear,  swept  over  her.  The 
thought  that  if  it  had  been  a  dagger  she  would 
have  killed  him  overpowered  her ;  she  threw  it 
from  her,  and  sat  trembling  and  cold  at  the 
reaction.  Maurice  dead,  and  by  her  hand  — 
yet  in  her  heart  she  had  willed  his  death.  She 
felt  weak  and  faint.  Dreading  interruption,  she 
yet  managed  to  stumble  to  her  former  seat,  her 
back  to  the  open  blind,  and  to  speak  intelligibly 
to  Flora,  who  came  bustling  in. 


CHAPTER  IX. 

PHILIPPE  DE  LA  ROCHE  reached  his  home  the 
following  day.  The  sun  was  pouring  its  soft 
ened  radiance  on  the  lovely  and  lovable  Touraine 
landscape.  The  influence  of  autumn  was  appar 
ent,  enveloping  even  the  near  distance  in  a  haze. 
The  double  row  of  tall  poplars  on  the  main 
road  were  shedding  their  golden  leaves,  which 
fluttered  slowly  through  the  blue  radiance.  The 
"stately  Loire,"  as  Wordsworth  calls  it,  kept 
ever  on  its  way  with  a  placid,  dignified  indiffer 
ence  to  all  that  is  hurried,  unclean,  unbeautiful 
on  its  shores,  reflecting  only  the  clear  heavens 
and  the  white  clouds.  It  was  the  vintage  sea 
son,  and  among  the  reddish  purple  vines  cover 
ing  the  hillsides  the  peasants  were  busy  at  their 
work,  filling  with  the  ripe  grapes  the  baskets 
slung  on  their  backs. 

As  the  carriage  turned  aside  from  the  main 
route,  the  gray,  weather-beaten  towers  of  the 
chateau  were  visible  for  a  moment  through  an 
opening  in  the  trees ;  they  were  then  hidden 
again  as  the  horses  trotted  up  the  gentle  incline 
of  the  avenue,  and  were  next  seen  from  the 


190          A    TRANSATLANTIC    CHATELAINE. 

other  side,  where  the  moat  had  to  be  crossed 
before  entering  under  the  fine,  old  archway  into 
the  court  of  honor.  La  Roche  was  in  reality 
two  building's  facing  each  other,  and  connected 
by  a  low  towerless  wing  with  the  arch  in  the 
centre.  The  side  opposite  this  was  bounded  by 
a  low,  ivy-covered  wall,  and  was  open  to  the 
broad  expanse  of  green  meadows  with  the  river 
flowing  through  them  ;  stately  trees  clustered 
there  in  groups,  and  in  the  foreground  on  the 
terrace,  close  beneath  the  wall,  stood  a  noble 
cedar  of  Lebanon.  The  east  wing  was  clearly 
older  than  its  opposite  neighbor,  the  absence 
of  carvings  and  embellishments  proclaiming  its 
origin  in  the  grim  times  when  dwellings  were 
built  not  only  for  purposes  of  living,  but  re 
quired  strength  for  defense  against  enemies. 
The  west  wing  had  evidently  been  built  in  hap 
pier  days,  and  was  richly  decorated  with  carved 
stone  in  the  forms  of  grotesque  beasts  and  dis 
torted  gargoyles.  The  upper  row  of  windows, 
finished  with  a  wreath  of  intricate  openwork 
stone  tracery,  looked  like  lace  against  the  bril 
liant  sky.  Both  wings  ended  in  round  towers, 
and  the  iron  weathercocks,  with  their  strangely 
fashioned  standards  cut  like  an  animal's  head, 
turned  as  the  wind  blew,  just  as  they  had  turned 
when  the  massive  cedar,  or  even  the  cedar's  an 
cestor,  was  but  a  slip  whose  slender  trunk  could 


A    TRANSATLANTIC    CHATELAINE.  191 

have  been  clasped  by  the  strong,  rude  hand  of 
Foulques  Nerra's  descendant. 

It  was  a  home  to  be  proud  of ;  to  make  a 
man's  heart  beat  high  with  the  resolve  that  he 
would  leave  it  richer  in  its  annals  of  noble  deeds 
for  his  life  ;  to  bring  unconsciously  a  wish  for 
children,  to  whom  he  could  hand  down  an  un 
stained  name  and  a  love  for  the  old  place.  But 
Philippe  was  not  a  man  given  to  thoughts  of 
this  sort.  When  he  recalled  his  ancestry,  which 
was  seldom,  it  was  to  laugh  with  a  touch  of 
scorn  at  the  unsanctioned  loves  of  the  old  cru 
sader  who  had  founded  the  family,  and  to  speak 
of  the  doubtful  transactions  which  had  brought 
wealth  to  it.  When  his  mother  would  do  her 
best  to  urge  him  to  other  ambitions,  another 
train  of  life,  he  would  jestingly  turn  the  matter 
aside  and  ask  her  what  she  could  expect  of  a 
descendant  of  an  unholy  alliance.  If  his  lazy, 
disused  conscience  awoke  after  some  ruder  shock 
than  usual,  he  could  always  soothe  it  by  remind 
ing  himself  that  his  faults  at  any  rate  had  the 
quality  of  kingliness.  And  so  this  delicious, 
golden,  mellow  September  afternoon,  his  only 
feeling  was  one  of  impatience  as  he  entered  the 
west  wing,  having  told  the  coachman  that  his 
horses  were  a  disgrace  to  a  gentleman's  stable, 
and  asking  him  if  he  had  ever  been  taught  the 
use  of  a  currycomb.  As  the  old  man,  who  had 


192  A    TRANSATLANTIC    CHATELAINE. 

served  his  father  many  years,  turned  away,  hurt 
and  angry,  the  count  entered  the  door  held  open 
by  another  lifelong  servant,  the  butler. 

"  Madame  la  comtesse  will  receive  Monsieur 
le  comte  in  the  oak  salon,"  he  said,  his  eager, 
wistful  expression  showing  plainly  how  he  longed 
for  a  word  of  greeting  from  the  master  whom 
he  had  seen  christened ;  but  beyond  a  care 
less  "Thanks,"  as  he  handed  him  his  hat  and 
cane,  Philippe  said  nothing.  He  was  glad  his 
mother  had  noticed  the  last  time  he  was  there 
how  much  he  disliked  having  her  at  the  station 
or  even  at  the  door  to  meet  him.  It  was  much 
better  form  to  keep  family  scenes  quiet.  As  he 
followed  the  butler  across  the  enormous  hall  he 
shivered. 

"  Why  the  deuce  don't  you  have  a  fire  here  ?  " 
he  asked  abruptly ;  "  this  is  like  stepping  into 
a  tomb  after  the  outside  air."  The  room  where 
he  found  his  mother  was  a  trifle  warmer,  for  the 
hot  sun  had  been  trying  to  work  its  way  through 
the  narrow,  sinall-paned  windows  sunk  four  feet 
in  the  thick  walls ;  but  even  here  there  was  a 
touch  of  chill.  The  walls  were  hung  with  Flan 
ders  tapestries  of  great  age,  and  brilliant  colors 
that  made  one  think  of  Chinese  embroideries. 
The  ceiling  gave  its  name  to  the  room,  being  of 
oak,  and  unlike  the  majority  of  old  ceilings  the 
beams  were  not  painted,  but  the  natural  wood 


A    TRANSATLANTIC    CHATELAINE.  193 

was  elaborately  carved.  Although  this  was  one 
of  the  smallest  apartments  the  chateau  boasted, 
it  was  large  enough  to  make  an  enormous  stone 
fireplace  seem  in  exact  proportion.  The  furni 
ture  was  old  and  heavy,  and  the  few  unavoidable 
modern  touches  were  lost  sight  of  in  the  general 
aspect  of  ripened  age. 

The  Countess  de  La  Roche  was  sitting  in  a 
high  gothic  armchair,  her  face  turned  towards 
the  window  looking  beyond  the  cedar  to  the 
river.  For  the  last  hour  she  had  sat  in  the  same 
attitude,  her  hands  folded  on  her  lap,  only  the 
quick  changes  of  expression  sweeping  across  her 
face  showing  she  was  in  truth  a  living  being, 
and  not  a  phantom  chased  from  the  gay  tapestry 
behind  her,  for  that  her  sombre  garb  struck  too 
discordant  a  note  in  their  bright  symphony  of 
color.  She  was  a  woman  who  had  been  hand 
some.  The  gray-streaked  hair  was  brushed  sim 
ply  away  from  a  low  beautiful  brow ;  the  finely 
cut  features  were  still  perfect  in  outline  ;  but  the 
eyes  were  sunken  and  dimmed,  with  heavy  lines 
about  them  ;  and  the  mouth  when  in  repose  had 
almost  a  cruel  look,  so  rigidly  it  closed.  She 
wore  her  usual  heavy  mourning,  although  it  was 
nearly  six  years  since  her  husband  had  died,  and 
the  thin  golden  thread  of  her  wedding  ring  was 
her  only  ornament.  Quiet  and  unassuming  in 
her  manners,  she  yet  impressed  every  one  with 


194  A    TRANSATLANTIC    CHATELAINE. 

whom  she  came  in  contact  as  a  woman  to  be 
respected  and  revered.  Every  one  ?  Hardly  ; 
for  her  son  was  the  exception  to  be  found  to 
every  rule. 

As  he  entered  the  low  carved  oak  door  she 
rose,  and  a  look  of  apprehension  came  to  her 
eyes  ;  Philippe  saw  it,  and  his  vanity  was  touched 
by  it.  Had  it  come  to  this,  that  she  only  con 
nected  bad  news  with  his  appearance  ?  She 
should  find  out  her  mistake.  He  raised  her  hand 
to  his  lips  with  an  exaggerated  formality,  and 
then  submitted  to  her  kisses  on  each  cheek,  — 
long,  tremulous  kisses,  as  of  one  hardly  daring 
to  hope. 

"  Are  you  tired,  my  dear  ?  Shall  I  ring  for 
wine,  or  something  to  refresh  you?" 

"  No,  thank  you,  mamma.  I  stopped  over  a 
train  in  Tours  and  breakfasted  there,  knowing 
your  tyrants  do  not  care  to  be  disturbed  by  extra 
meals." 

"•  You  know  they  would  do  anything  for  you." 
This  was  said  in  a  reproachful  tone,  and  he  moved 
uneasily  ;  he  loathed  reproaches,  and  he  had  had 
so  many  in  his  life. 

"  Do  you  know  that  the  house  is  beastly  cold  ? 
You  ought  to  have  fires  even  if  it  is  against  all 
the  canons  of  the  church.  I  will  light  this  one 
now,  and  you  can  ask  the  cure  to  absolve  you 
for  over-luxuriousness  after  I  am  warm." 


A    TRANSATLANTIC    CHATELAINE.  195 

He  drew  an  enameled  match-box  from  his 
pocket,  and  touched  a  taper  to  the  well-laid  logs ; 
the  flames  went  roaring  up  the  great  chimney, 
and  after  giving  it  a  careful  look,  he  turned 
his  back  to  it,  set  his  feet  wide  apart,  and  said 
genially,  - 

"  You  should  have  me  down  here  once  in  a 
while  to  show  you  how  to  be  comfortable.  I 
really  believe  women  like  to  make  martyrs  of 
themselves  ;  there  is  no  other  way  to  account  for 
a  lot  of  things  in  this  world."  As  his  mother 
made  no  answer  he  hummed  softly  an  opera 
bouffe  air,  and  let  his  gaze  wander  over  the  well- 
known  room.  Although  affecting  ease  he  dreaded 
what  was  coming,  and  longed  to  have  it  over.  As 
he  thought  of  it  he  heartily  wished  that  he  were 
twenty-four  hours  older,  and  the  coming  inter 
view  a  thing  of  the  past;  but,  realizing  that 
wishes  are  very  inadequate  aids,  he  brought  his 
tune  carefully  to  a  finish,  and  twisting  his  mous 
tache  plunged  in. 

"  I  suppose  you  know  Maurice  came  to  see  his 
father  last  week  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  answered  the  countess  shortly. 

"  And  you  know  why  he  came  ?  " 

"  I  fancy  I  know,  though  I  could  not  make 
him  tell  me.  Oh,  Philippe,  Philippe  —  why  do 
you  bring  such  shame  to  me  ?  " 

"  Well,  don't  worry,  mamma,  dear  ;  I  think  I 


196          A    TRANSATLANTIC    CHATELAINE. 

see  my  way  out  of  all  my  troubles  if  you  will 
help  me." 

"  I  suppose  you  mean  that  you  are  going  to 
marry." 

"  That  is  just  it  —  what  a  clever  creature  you 
are.  Yes,  I  have  met  a  charming  well-bred 
woman,  an  American  with  an  enormous  fortune 
in  her  own  right,  —  and  —  and  —  Why,  what 's 
the  matter  now  ?  Why  do  you  look  at  me  so  ?  " 

"  An  American !  you,  a  de  La  Roche,  mar 
rying  a  creature  of  yesterday !  Have  you  no 
pride?  Do  you  never  think  of  your  duty  to 
your  house?" 

"  My  pride  takes  another  form,  you  know ;  and 
I  prefer  a  mesalliance  to  any  other  that  offers." 

"  Is  there  no  other  way  ?  Must  we  fall  to 
this  ?  " 

He  fixed  his  eyes  on  her  working,  agitated  face. 
There  was  something  oppressive  in  his  steady 
gaze,  for  it  seemed  as  if  he  were  making  an  effort 
to  control  his  habitual  restlessness,  and  that  this 
effort  cost  him  dear. 

"  Yes,  there  is  another  way  ;  but  as  you  have 
told  me  never  to  ask  you  again  to  do  that  we 
may  as  well  ignore  it." 

"  Philippe,  you  insult  me  when  you  ask  me  to 
sell  an  acre  of  the  property  your  father  left  me 
to  hold  for  you.  Never  —  never  will  I  do  it. 
Besides,  of  what  use  would  it  be  ?  No  sum  that 


A    TRANSATLANTIC    CHATELAINE.  197 

I  can  raise  for  you  will  ever  keep  you  out  of 
debt.  You  come  here  complaining  of  this,  that, 
and  the  other  thing.  Do  you  know  why  the 
chateau  is  cold  ?  It  is  because  I  have  sold  every 
available  bit  of  timber  to  have  money  enough 
to  live  through  another  year.  I  anticipated  my 
income  when  you  last  came  to  me  with  one  of 
your  shameful  stories,  begging  for  more  money. 
I  have  now  only  four  house  servants,  for  I  can 
not  afford  more,  —  I,  with  an  income  so  large  it 
could  easily  pay  for  three  establishments  like 
this.  Will  you  never  grow  old?  Will  you 
never  cease  to  be  a  thoughtless,  careless  boy? 
At  twenty  actions  like  yours  are  excusable ;  at 
thirty  they  are  revolting." 

"  Can  you  give  me  seventy-five  thousand  francs 
in  a  week?" 

"  You  know  I  cannot." 

"  Then  will  you  consent  to  my  marriage  with 
the  lady  I  have  spoken  of  ?  " 

"  My  consent  ?  What  need  is  there  for  such 
a  farce  ?  You  are  of  age ;  marry  whom  you 
will,  and  ignore  me." 

"  But  Madame  Huntington,  —  that  is  her 
name,  —  makes  it  a  condition  that  she  shall  be 
made  welcome  by  my  family." 

"  A  widow,  too,  is  she  ?  —  oh,  no,  even  you 
would  have  stopped  at  that—  She  is  not  a 
Protestant?  " 


198         A    TRAXSATLAXTIC    CHATELAINE. 

"  Dear  mamma,  the  world  to-day  is  not  the 
same  place  you  left  thirty  odd  years  ago  when 
my  father  brought  you  here  to  rusticate ;  if  a 
woman  is  well-bred,  rich,  and  virtuous,  her  reli 
gion  is  taken  for  granted." 

Madame  de  La  lioche  covered  her  face  with  her 
hands.  She  did  not  speak ;  she  could  not.  All 
her  soul  was  in  revolt  at  the  prospect  before  her. 
As  she  looked  at  the  matter,  the  family  she  had 
belonged  to  for  so  long,  of  which  she  was  so 
passionately  proud,  would  be  disgraced  by  her 
son's  proposed  marriage. 

"  A  rich  American  widow,  a  Protestant."  The 
words  seemed  to  glow  in  scarlet  letters  before 
her  closed  eyes.  To  her,  Americans  were  well 
enough  in  their  way,  but,  oh,  how  far  Upart  that 
way  had  always  been  from  hers  !  and  Protestant 
ism  meant  to  her  not  only  a  backsliding  from 
the  true  faith,  but  something  connected  with 
vulgarity,  hypocrisy,  and  obtrusiveness.  Both 
her  religious  and  social  susceptibilities  were 
hurt  by  the  thought.  If  any  personal  sacrifice 
could  save  —  not  her  son,  but  the  name  —  from 
this  loss  of  position  she  would  make  it ;  but, 
short  of  selling  some  of  her  land,  she  saw  no 
way ;  and  that  she  had  solemnly  promised  her 
husband  should  never  be  done. 

"  Starve  first,"  he  had  said  jestingly  ;  ami  she 
repeated,  "Yes,  starve  first." 


A    TRANSATLANTIC    CHATELAINE.  199 

One  of  the  blazing-  logs  parted  in  the  middle 
with  a  crash.  Philippe  rearranged  the  fire,  and 
then,  said  in  a  would-be  cheerful  tone,  "  Well, 
will  you  give  your  consent  ?  " 

"  You  mean,  will  I  accept  my  martyrdom  ? 
I  must." 

"  Don't  be  too  sure  this  is  a  bad  thing.  Sylvia 
is  a  very  presentable  woman.  She  is  handsome 
too,  and  young,  only  about  twenty-five,  I  think. 
Her  husband  left  her  at  the  church  door  to  join 
his  regiment,  and  was  shot  in  their  civil  war. 
He  left  her  ten  million  francs  in  her  own  right. 
There  is  not  a  breath  of  suspicion  against  her 
character,  and  barring  her  nationality,  which 
she  can't  help,  she  is  about  all  I  could  expect. 
As  for  her  religion,  she  is  not  very  firmly  rooted. 
Anyway,  the  queen  of  England  has  the  same 
faith  as  Sylvia,  so  at  all  events  she  travels  in 
good  company  towards  the  promised  land.  Be 
sides,  what  a  chance  for  you  to  convert  her,  eh, 
mamma  ?  " 

He  had  seated  himself  beside  her,  taken  one 
of  her  hands  in  his,  and  was  playing  with  it ; 
she  drew  it  quietly  away.  While  he  had  been 
speaking,  a  great  pity  for  this  unknown,  dreaded 
daughter-in-law  had  crept  into  her  mind  —  so 
young,  of  perfect  reputation,  and  what  was  be 
fore  her.?  A  marriage  with  a  man  already  old 
in  dissipation,  caring  only  for  the  doubtful  ex- 


200  A    TRANSATLANTIC    CHATELAINE. 

citeinents  that  gambling  and  the  demi-monde 
could  give  him,  who  had  captured  his  prey  sim 
ply  for  her  fortune. 

"  Oh,  another  thing  in  her  favor  I  forgot  — 
she  is  an  orphan  with  absolutely  no  near  rela 
tions." 

"  Poor  child,  may  God  help  her." 

"  Well,  you  are  hardly  complimentary  to  me. 
If  that  remark  means  she  '11  need  such  extraor 
dinary  help  on  account  of  her  being  my  wife  — 
But  I  '11  forgive  your  plain  speaking  if  it  means 
you  are  still,  what  you  always  have  been,  the 
very  dearest,  most  adorable  mother  in  the  world 
and  will  smooth  my  way  for  me." 

"  What  do  you  want  me  to  do  ?  " 

Her  voice  was  level  and  expressionless  and 
she  did  not  look  at  him. 

"  Write  her  a  nice  letter,  such  as  you  are 
famous  for,  and  ask  her  to  make  you  a  visit.  You 
need  n't  say  a  word  about  our  being  engaged,  for 
she  made  it  a  condition  that  she  should  not  be 
bound ;  and  you  had  better  tell  her  to  bring 
along  an  English  woman,  her  companion  or 
something,  a  Mrs.  Lee  -  Blair  —  hold  on,  I  '11 
spell  it  for  you." 

Thankful  for  something  to  do,  he  bustled 
about  looking  for  a  bit  of  paper.  lie  opened  the 
countess's  desk,  took  a  sheet  of  her  note-paper, 
and  unfastening  a  heavy  gold  pencil  crusted  with 


A    TRANSATLANTIC   CHATELAINE.          201 

rubies  from  his  watch-chain,  scrawled  the  name 
over  it.  She  looked  on,  with  the  bitter  memory 
in  her  mind  of  all  the  sordid  little  economies  she 
had  practiced  for  his  sake  ;  all  the  self-denials 
that  he  had  made  useless,  and  her  heart  swelled 
within  her  as  she  thought,  "  Rather  that  a  thou 
sand  times,  than  that  he  should  sell  his  birth 
right." 

They  parted  when  the  dressing-bell  rang,  and 
when  they  met  again  she  handed  him  an  unsealed 
envelope. 

"  If  that  does  not  suit  you,  perhaps  you  will 
tell  me  where  it  can  be  improved." 

He  pulled  the  letter  out  and  ran  his  eye  down 
the  sheet. 

"  Perfect,  absolutely  perfect.  Mamma,  no 
one  knows  better  than  you  how  to  do  a  thing  of 
this  sort  gracefully." 

All  through  the  elaborately  served  dinner  he 
showed  his  gratitude  by  his  rattling  good  nature, 
ignoring  many  small  omissions  in  the  butler's 
service  that  he  mentally  noticed  and  resolved 
to  change  before  Sylvia's  arrival.  He  discussed 
witli  his  mother  what  rooms  should  be  made 
ready  for  their  guests,  showed  himself  a  master 
of  all  the  details  of  modern  luxury,  and  even 
volunteered  to  procure  an  extra  number  of  ser 
vants  for  the  time  of  the  visit.  Madame  de  La 
Roche  listened  with  cold  attention,  assenting  to 


202         A    TRANSATLANTIC   CHATELAINE. 

all  his  plans  with  no  pretense  at  enthusiasm. 
Although  his  spirits  were  high  in  proportion  to 
the  dread  with  which  he  had  looked  forward  to 
this  evening,  he  was  relieved  when  she  rose  and 
bade  him  good-night.  He  closed  the  door  be 
hind  her,  put  some  fresh  logs  on  the  smouldering 
fire,  lighted  a  cigarette,  and  throwing  himself 
into  an  armchair,  gave  himself  up  to  self-con 
gratulations  and  a  few  calculations  of  a  cheering 
nature. 

His  mother  went  slowly  to  her  room.  She 
soon  dismissed  her  maid,  and  then  wrapping  a 
heavy  fur  cloak  about  her,  opened  a  door  hidden 
beneath  the  tapestry  on  the  wall.  Her  glass- 
shaded  candle  showed  a  small  turning  staircase 
built  in  the  stonework  of  the  chateau.  Cau 
tiously,  and  yet  with  the  tread  of  one  accustomed 
to  the  difficult  descent,  down,  down  she  went. 
When  the  last  step  was  reached  she  took  a 
heavy  key  from  her  chatelaine  and  opened  a 
door,  closing  it  behind  her.  Her  candle  threw 
its  feeble  gleam  about  her,  showing  glimpses  of 
a  chapel  hewn  out  of  the  side  of  the  rock  upon 
which  the  chateau  was  built,  and  from  which  it 
took  its  name.  This  was  not  only  a  chapel,  but 
the  burial-place  of  the  family,  and  the  floor 
was  inlaid  with  slabs  of  stone  or  marble  with 
the  names  of  the  dead  and  gone  cut  into  them. 
Against  the  walls  were  ranged  carved  effigies, 


A    TRANSATLANTIC    CHATELAINE.          203 

most  of  them  gray  with  age,  and  touched  roiighly 
by  the  hand  of  time,  but  among  them  one  shone 
white  and  fresh  :  a  recumbent  figure,  with  dra 
peries  flowing  in  majestic  folds,  and  a  faithful 
hound  at  its  feet.  Here  the  countess  paused  for 
a  moment,  the  thought  coming  to  her,  "  Was  it 
because  I  loved  you  more  than  my  child,  more 
than  my  country,  more  than  my  God,  that  this 
burden  is  so  heavy  upon  me  ?  Must  I  expiate 
by  a  life  of  woe  the  years  of  golden  happiness 
I  spent  with  you,  my  love,  my  husband  ?  So  be 
it ;  I  am  ready.  I  have  had  all  that  life  can 
give  of  joy.  Now  let  me  bear  what  it  has  in 
store  for  me." 

She  moved  forward  through  the  gloom  to 
wards  a  glimmer  of  light  coming  from  a  taper 
that  burned  day  and  night  before  an  altar  of 
the  Virgin  ;  and  there  at  the  feet  of  the  divine 
mother  the  mortal  mother  knelt.  At  first  only 
black,  despairing  bitterness  filled  her  heart ; 
then  the  quiet,  the  associations  of  the  place  also, 
perhaps  a  blessed  human  inability  to  bear  more 
than  a  certain  amount  of  suffering,  touched  her 
hcalingly,  and  she  found  herself  praying. 

"  O  Holy  Virgin,  help  me  to  bear  my  cross  ; 
send  me  thy  comfort.  Have  mercy  on  me.  Take 
from  me  the  sense  of  shame  and  guilt  I  sink  be 
neath.  Thou  Blessed  Mother,  have  pity  on  me 
who  have  drunk  of  a  bitterer  cup  of  sorrow  than 


204          A    TRANSATLANTIC    CHATELAINE. 

fell  to  thy  lot,  for  I  can  only  blush  for  my  son, 
I  can  only  feel  the  bitter  agony  of  shame  for 
him.  Forgive  me,  forgive,  if  I  am  bringing  a 
young,  pure  life  under  the  shadow  of  my  grief. 
Help  me  to  do  what  is  right ;  but,  O  Holy  Mary, 
Mother  Mary,  hear  my  prayers,  and  save  my 
son  ;  save  him  from  worse  than  death.  Redeem 
him  before  it  is  too  late.  For  the  sake  of  thy 
blessed  son,  to  whom  nothing  is  impossible,  save 
my  wayward,  erring  child  !  " 

Prostrate  before  the  altar,  the  faint  light 
touching  her  long  black  garments,  the  countess 
stayed  until  her  low-burning  candle  warned  her 
to  depart.  And  so  Philippe  won  his  first  move 
in  the  new  game,  and  his  mother  lost. 


CHAPTER  X. 

SYLVIA  received  the  cordial  invitation  from 
Madame  de  La  Roche  with  a  feeling  of  approval, 
but  hardly  of  surprise.  It  had  occurred  to  her 
that  there,  might  be  some  coldness  in  her  wel 
come  into  Philippe's  family,  and  for  that  reason 
she  had  insisted  on  a  proper  reception  assured 
beforehand ;  but  the  extent  of  prejudice  felt 
against  her  by  his  mother  had  never  entered  her 
head.  She  answered  graciously  and  gracefully, 
naming  a  date  the  following  week  for  her  arri 
val  at  La  Roche,  but  limiting  the  length  of  her 
visit  to  three  days.  Flora  was  much  excited  at 
being  included  in  the  invitation,  although  she 
did  her  best  to  hide  her  exaltation. 

"  You  know  it  is  very  seldom  a  foreigner  gets 
a  chance  to  see  one  of  the  regular,  swell  old 
families  at  home,  Sylvia.  We  must  not  be  too 
fine  in  our  clothes  ;  you  can  see  by  the  seal  that 
she  is  in  mourning,  so  there  won't  be  much  gay- 
ety,  I  fancy ;  one  large  trunk  apiece  ought  to 
be  enough,  don't  you  think  ?  " 

Sylvia  did  think,  and  showed  herself  a  true 
woman  in  the  discussion  of  frocks  that  followed  ; 


206  A    TRANSATLANTIC    CHATELAINE. 

it  was  a  relief  to  turn  to  every-day  details,  for 
just  now  there  was  a  feeling  of  unreality  in  her 
life  that  was  almost  painful. 

This  sensation  was  by  no  means  dispelled  when 
she  reached  the  little  railway  station  about  five 
miles  from  La  Roche,  and  was  met  by  the  family 
carriage.  She  and  Mrs.  Lee-Blair  left  their 
maids  to  follow  with  the  luggage,  and  drove  al 
most  in  silence  along  the  river-road.  As  they 
came  to  an  opening  in  the  trees  the  coachman 
turned,  and  pointing  with  his  whip,  said  proudly, 
"  The  chateau  !  " 

Sylvia  caught  a  glimpse  of  her  future  home. 
She  felt  frightened  vaguely  as  though  she  would 
like  to  jump  from  the  carriage  and  run  away ; 
she  put  out  her  hand  and  took  Flora's,  clasping 
it  convulsively. 

"  Poor  girl,  I  know  just  how  you  feel ;  but 
don't  be  scared.  You  will  be  welcomed  with 
open  arms,  see  if  you  're  not ;  and  if  they  do  snub 
you,  all  you  have  to  do  is  to  turn  your  back  on 
them." 

Sylvia  smiled  faintly  and  took  her  hand  away  ; 
sometimes  it  is  rather  comforting  to  be  misunder 
stood  in  a  nice,  commonplace  way,  and  she  felt 
that  she  was  silly  to  let  the  ghost  of  the  future 
shake  her  nerves. 

The  skies  were  overcast,  and  seemed  to  accord 
with  the  east  wing  in  its  feudal  severity,  making 
a  fitting  background  for  the  sn'im  buildinjr. 


-I    TRANSATLANTIC    CHATELAINE.  207 

Philippe  stood  at  the  open  door,  and  nothing 
could  have  been  more  appropriate  than  his  warm, 
respectful  greeting. 

"  I  will  take  you  at  once  to  my  mother,"  he 
said,  showing  them  across  the  vast  hall,  through 
the  stone  corridor,  and  at  last  reaching  the  oak 
salon. 

There  was  no  chill  in  the  air  to-day  ;  great 
flames  rushed  roaring  upwards  in  every  chimney, 
and  made  one  forget  the  lack  of  sunshine. 

The  countess  rose  as  the  door  opened,  and 
holding  out  both  hands  came  towards  Sylvia. 
The  two  women  looked  each  other  full  in  the 
face ;  each  felt  that  this  was  no  time  for  empty 
compliment ;  there  was  a  look  of  inquiry  in  their 
eyes  as  they  met ;  they  seemed  to  be  asking 
mutely,  "  Do  we  meet  in  peace  or  war  ?  " 

"  You  are  welcome  at  La  Roche,  madame." 

"  I  am  very  happy  to  be  here,"  answered 
Sylvia  simply. 

They  were  both  strangely  agitated,  and  Phi 
lippe  and  Mrs.  Lee-Blair  worked  valiantly  during 
the  next  ten  minutes  to  give  the  interview  an 
every-day  aspect. 

At  last  it  was  suggested  that  if  Sylvia  were 
not  too  tired  she  might  like  to  see  a  part  of  the 
chateau,  saving  the  gardens  for  a  sunny  day,  and 
all  were  relieved  to  be  able  to  move  and  speak 
naturally. 


208          A    TRANSATLANTIC    CHATELAINE. 

They  walked  through  the  rooms  rich  with 
memory  and  legend.  Philippe  knew  all  the  ro 
mances  of  the  place,  and  told  them  well,  giving 
vivid  touches  that  made  the  past  live.  Flora 
was  deeply  impressed  by  all  that  she  saw  and 
heard,  and  took  the  burden  of  conversation  on 
herself,  to  Sylvia's  relief,  for  she  felt  unable  to 
do  more  than  walk  in  dreamland,  her  eyes  seek 
ing  those  of  Madame  de  La  Roche  in  a  wistful 
fashion.  The  older  woman  appealed  to  some 
unsuspected  chord  in  her  nature  ;  her  voice,  her 
walk,  her  deeply  sad  expression,  touched  her 
sympathy. 

To  the  countess  it  was  a  trying  ordeal.  To  see 
this  young,  fresh  woman,  moving  in  an  atmos 
phere  of  gay  prosperity,  yet  with  a  subtle  indi 
cation  of  something  deeper,  of  capacities  for  joy 
or  suffering  as  yet  unwakened,  was  to  feel  two 
distinct  sets  of  emotions.  Her  well  -  appointed 
beauty,  her  dainty  feet  treading  over  the  stone 
floors  where  crusaders'  feet  had  trod,  the  rich 
silk  of  her  dress  rustling  where  formerly  the 
clang  of  mailed  armor  had  rung  —  all  these  signs 
of  a  new  race,  new  wealth  coming  to  these  mel 
lowed  old  walls,  stirred  something  like  indignation 
in  the  countess's  heart.  "Would  this  product  of 
a  new,  raw  civilization  be  able  to  feel  the  least 
stir  of  the  veneration  which  to  her  made  the 
chateau  sacred  ? 


A    TRANSATLANTIC    CHATELAINE.          209 

Then  a  look  from  Sylvia's  deep  eyes,  the  sound 
of  her  soft  voice,  turned  her  to  a  new  view  of  the 
matter.  Did  this  girl  know  what  was  before  her  ? 
Did  she  know  the  man  she  was  going  to  marry  ? 
If  not,  then  God  help  her. 

The  two  women  were  a  little  behind  the  others, 
when  Madame  de  La  Roche  said,  "  I  will  take 
you  to  the  chapel ;  I  prefer  to  be  alone  there 
with  you  ;  my  son  may  show  it  later  to  your 
friend." 

She  led  Sylvia  down  the  narrow  stairs  in  the 
wall,  and  through  the  heavy  door.  The  pale 
afternoon  light  crept  reluctantly  in  at  the  narrow 
stained-glass  windows  set  in  the  side  of  the  rock, 
and  for  a  moment  it  was  difficult  to  distinguish 
the  carved  statues  ;  but  gradually  their  eyes  grew 
accustomed  to  the  twilight,  and  Sylvia  followed 
her  guide,  deeply  moved  as  she  listened  to  her 
level,  unemphatic  voice  repeating  the  names  and 
deeds  of  the  dead  beneath  their  feet.  At  last 
they  came  to  the  white  statue,  and  the  countess 
stood  there  without  speaking  for  a  moment's 
space ;  then  she  said,  "  This  is  where  my  hus 
band,  Philippe's  father,  lies.  Pie  was  worthy  of 
his  race  ;  he  was  brave  and  true  as  every  de  La 
Roche  has  been  ;  up  to  the  present  no  man  bear 
ing  the  name  has  dimmed  it.  Look  to  it  that  you 
are  ready  to  bear  a  great  responsibility  in  mar 
rying  into  this  family.  Xew  ways  have  arisen, 


210         A    TRANSATLANTIC    CHATELAINE. 

new  manners,  new  morals.  If  my  son  is  not  what 
his  father  was,  may  I  bear  all  the  blame.  Think 
well,  my  child,  before  you  take  this  step." 

Her  voice  broke,  and  she  turned  her  head 
aside,  covering  her  eyes  with  a  gesture  at  once 
mournful  and  dignified. 

"  I  have  thought  well,"  answered  Sylvia  ;  "  my 
courage  is  equal  to  what  lies  before  me  ;  far  from 
thinking  lightly  of  the  noble  name  your  son 
bears,  it  is  from  my  admiration  of  it  that  I  have 
consented  to  marry  him.  I  tell  you  this  frankly. 
I  am  not  a  young  romantic  girl  whose  fancy  is 
easily  gained  ;  but  I  am  a  woman  with  a  pas 
sionate  love  for  all  that  is  great  and  honorable, 
and  I  can  promise  you  that  you  will  find  in  me 
a  loyalty  to  this  house  equal  to  yours.'' 

"  Then  you  will  find  in  me  a  true  mother." 

They  clasped  hands  as  two  men  might  have 
done,  and  standing  before  the  tomb  each  prayed 
silently.  The  countess  felt  a  burden  lifted  from 
her  heart. 

"  I  have  warned  the  child  ;  I  have  done  my 
best ;  now  in  Thy  hands  I  leave  the  future." 

Sylvia  for  the  first  time  in  her  life  longed  for 
a  clear  faith  ;  the  words  in  her  heart  were  sin 
cere,  but  they  seemed  to  echo  drearily  back,  meet 
ing  with  no  response.  "  Help  me  to  live  worthily ; 
to  do  faithfully  my  part ;  to  fail  in  nothing  that 
I  have  undertaken." 


A    TRANSATLANTIC    CHATELAINE.          211 

As  they  stood  there  a  loud  laugh  sounded  out 
side  the  door.  The  countess  closed  her  eyes  with 
a  look  of  pain  as  if  it  jarred  upon  her,  but  she 
assumed  her  calm  dignity  of  manner  when  Phi 
lippe  showed  Mrs.  Lee-Blair  in  ;  he  subdued  his 
voice  when  he  saw  his  mother,  and  the  tour  was 
made  almost  in  silence. 

The  following  days  were  full  of  intense  inter 
est  to  Sylvia ;  she  was  seeing  with  her  own  eyes 
the  home  she  had  chosen  for  her  future ;  she 
was  learning  to  know  and  reverence  her  future 
mother-in-law  as  she  had  never  reverenced  any 
woman  in  her  life.  The  simple  austerity  sur 
rounding  the  countess,  her  business  capacity  as 
shown  in  her  directing  her  farms  and  vineyards, 
her  unceasing  efforts  to  help  the  peasants  in  the 
small  village  clustered  at  her  gates  —  all  this 
opened  the  younger  woman's  eyes  to  a  new  type 
of  existence,  and  in  her  present  state  of  exalta 
tion  she  found  it  admirable  and  enviable.  To 
her  friend  Flora,  however,  time  dragged  heavily. 
There  were  no  gayeties.  As  Madame  de  La 
Roche  explained,  she  did  not  entertain  generally, 
and  the  relations  whom  she  would  have  liked  to 
invite  to  meet  Mrs.  Huntington  lived  too  far 
away  to  come  at  such  short  notice,  whilst  her 
dear  friend  and  neighbor  Monsieur  Regnier  was 
unfortunately  away  from  home  at  this  moment. 

They  were  sauntering  through  the  garden  to- 


212          A    TRANSATLANTIC    CHATELAINE. 

wards  the  house  when  this  explanation  was  given, 
and  Sylvia  felt  an  angry  blush  rise  to  her  face 
at  the  sound  of  Regnier's  name.  Then  she  won 
dered  a  little  at  his  being  Madame  de  La  Roche's 
friend,  considering  what  she  knew  about  Maurice ; 
and  then  the  whole  subject  distressed  and  puz 
zled  her  so  that  she  dismissed  it  from  her  mind. 
On  reaching  the  court  she  said  that  she  had  let 
ters  to  write,  and  left  the  others  talking  together  : 
but  she  had  not  been  long  in  her  own  room  when 
Flora  entered,  and  stretching  herself  on  a  sofa 
yawned  dismally. 

"  Can't  you  speak  to  me,  Sylvia  ?  Won't  you 
be  kind  enough  to  say  some  English  words  ?  I 
don't  care  what  they  are  —  anything  in  a  row, 
just  to  hear  the  dear  sound.  Say  hog  if  you 
will ;  they  tell  me  it  is  not  a  pretty  word,  but  oh, 
the  good,  broad  open  sound  it  has,  —  hog  !  hog ! 
I  love  it.  My  lips  are  worn  out  squeezing  them 
selves  up  to  fit  these  detestable  French  prunes 
and  prisms.  Stop  laughing,  child  —  talk." 

"  You  don't  share  the  fastidiousness  of  your 
countrywomen,  the  Cranford  ladies,  who  were 
so  dreadfully  distressed  because  the  village  doc 
tor's  name  was  Hoggins,  and  used  to  wonder  if 
it  would  do  to  ask  him  to  change  it  to  Piggins," 
said  Sylvia,  pushing  her  writing-desk  away  and 
leaning  back  in  her  chair. 

"  Cranford  ?  No,  I  was  never  there  ;  how 
silly  of  them." 


A    TRANSATLANTIC    CHATELAINE.          213 

tk  I  am  afraid,  dear  Flora,  you  are  not  amused 
here." 

"  Amused  ?  I  have  grown  ten  years  older 
since  day  before  yesterday,  and  we  don't  leave 
here  until  to-morrow  at  half  past  one ;  that 
makes  —  let  me  see  —  four  o'clock  now  —  thir 
teen,  fourteen  "  — 

"  Oh,  for  Heaven's  sake  do  your  sums  in  your 
head,"  interrupted  Sylvia.  "  I  am  happy  here, 
and  I  do  not  want  to  be  reminded  how  soon  it 
is  to  end." 

"  Twenty-one  hours  and  a  half,"  exclaimed 
Flora,  who  had  continued  her  count.  "  Can  I 
stand  it  ?  Two  more  meals  of  seventeen  courses, 
a  mouthful  to  a  course ;  all  this  evening  to  keep 
up  such  an  inane  conversation  as  is  possible, 
with  you  expressing  heart-felt  interest  in  the 
new  vintage,  and  looking  quite  mad  with  grief 
when  you  hear  the  noble  hens  of  La  Roche  don't 
lay  more  than  one  egg  apiece  a  day.  Can't  you 
think  of  some  game  of  cards  for  this  evening  to 
keep  me  from  losing  my  senses  ?  Heavens,  can 
this  be  I,  actually  craving  a  merry  round  game, 
a  thing  I  have  always  avoided?  " 

"  Poor  Flora,  I  am  glad  you  are  showing  me 
yourself  in  your  true  colors  ;  now  I  shall  know 
enough  never  to  invite  you  here  unless  every 
room  is  filled  with  the  nobility  of  France." 

"  Well,  your  eyes  are  opened  to  the  advan- 


214          A    TRANSATLANTIC    CHATELAINE. 

tages  and  disadvantages  of  such  a  marriage. 
This  is  certainly  a  very  distinguished  family, 
and  the  most  beautiful  estate  I  ever  saw ;  but 
they  are  evidently  as  poor  as  church  mice.  Still 
to  you  that  makes  no  difference." 

She  paused,  sighed,  and  looked  pensively  into 
the  fire  ;  then,  with  a  sudden  change  of  tone,  she 
began  again  :  "•  What  rooms  shall  you  take  for 
your  own?  and  shall  you  make  any  changes?" 

"  I  do  not  know,  I  can  make  no  plans.  The 
minute  I  begin  to  arrange  details  I  lose  all  my 
identity  and  feel  powerless.  Now  go  and  dress 
for  dinner,  and  I  will  suggest  a  merry  round 
game  for  your  evening's  amusement." 

But  in  spite  of  her  promise  Sylvia  forgot  all 
about  her  friend's  amusement,  for  after  dinner, 
on  their  way  to  the  salon,  Philippe  contrived  to 
get  her  alone  with  him  in  the  billiard-room.  He 
looked  very  determined,  and  handsome  in  his 
robust  way,  as  he  stood  facing  her,  and  she  felt 
a  new,  not  unpleasing  excitement  gain  posses 
sion  of  her.  lie  began  abruptly  :  — 

"•  I  am  no  phrase-maker,  and  I  have  only  two 
words  to  say  :  first,  I  love  you  more  than  ever, 
and  it  has  been  a  torment  not  to  tell  you  so 
these  last  days  ;  second,  are  you  still  of  the  same 
mind?  Will  you  let  my  mother  speak  seriously 
with  you  to-morrow  morning  about  our  mar 
riage  ?  " 


A    TRANSATLANTIC    CHATELAINE.          215 

"  You  never  seem  to  care  whether  I  love  you ; 
all  you  ask  is  that  you  may  love  me  and  marry 
me.  Are  you  really  as  indifferent  to  my  feel 
ings  as  you  seem  ?  " 

He  let  his  eyes  wander  over  the  room,  and 
then  settle  for  a  moment  on  her  face  before  he 
answered. 

"  Nine  men  out  of  ten  would  lie  to  you,  but  I 
am  going  to  begin  at  any  rate  by  telling  you  the 
brutal  truth.  I  have  been  brought  up  to  regard 
marriage  as  a  business  transaction,  and  to  look 
out  for  a  wife  with  money  or  birth,  or  both  if 
possible ;  and  it  was  in  that  state  of  mind  I 
began  to  try  and  win  you.  But,  by  Heavens! 
Sylvia,  you  have  made  me  forget  your  fortune, 
everything  but  yourself  ;  for  you  are  a  sorceress, 
and  have  used  your  power  to  such  an  end  that  I 
am  in  that  condition  I  have  always  said  made  a 
man  look  like  an  ass,  —  in  love  with  the  woman 
he  wants  to  marry.  Still,  a  fellow  can't  learn 
everything  all  over  again  at  my  age,  and  I  am 
so  sure  you  will  love  me  when  we  are  once  mar 
ried  that  as  long  as  you  consent  to  that  I  am 
contented  enough  as  it  is." 

She  gave  a  little  laugh,  that  stopped  short 
half  way. 

"  You  are  far  from  being  an  ideal  lover,  Mon 
sieur  lo  comte,  but  then  I  am  far,  I  am  afraid, 
from  being  the  ideal  wife  you  imagine  ;  so,  as 


216          A    TRANSATLANTIC    CHATELAINE. 

long  as  we  start  fair,  we  may  surely  hope  that 
life  will  not  be  so  very  bad." 

"  And  you  will  see  my  mother  to-morrow  and 
talk  it  all  over?" 

"Yes." 

"  Thank  you,  thank  you,"  he  exclaimed,  put 
ting  one  arm  round  her  waist,  and  kissing  her. 
She  blushed  and  left  the  room. 

Philippe  de  La  lloche  had  spoken  a  momen 
tary  truth  when  he  told  Sylvia  that  he  was  in 
love  with  her,  for  he  had  a  habit  of  being  in 
love  with  the  nearest  available  woman  as  long  as 
she  continued  a  novelty  ;  indeed  this  softness  of 
heart  was  one  of  the  reasons  he  was  always  in 
money  difficulties.  His  susceptibilities  had  re 
sponded  easily  to  encouragement,  and  it  had  not 
been  difficult  for  him  to  get  up  a  genuine  pas 
sion  for  the  charming  woman  he  hoped  to  marry  ; 
even  that  prosaic  consideration  failed  to  cool  his 
ardor,  and  be  congratulated  himself  on  the  fact 
that  Sylvia's  figure,  walk,  voice  and  face  were 
quite  as  alluring  for  the  time  being  as  those  of 
any  of  the  facile  ladies  who  had  hitherto  shared 
the  honor  of  his  admiration  and  gifts. 

lie  was  a  very  Jack  Ilorner.  His  plum  was 
big,  and  his  virtue  in  being  in  love  with  his 
future  wife  undoubted.  As  he  strolled  across 
the  hall  to  the  oak  salon  it  even  occurred  to  him 
that  he  might  shut  down  on  a  certain  small  but 


A    TRANSATLANTIC    CHATELAINE.          217 

expensive  apartment  in  Paris,  whose  occupant 
had  a  fatal  way  of  emptying  his  purse  ;  but  he 
considered  that  it  was  never  wise  to  burn  one's 
bridges  behind  one,  and  that  was  a  painful  duty 
which  could  easily  wait  a  little. 

The  next  morning,  according  to  agreement, 
Madame  de  La  Roche  and  Sylvia  had  their  busi 
ness  talk.  Sylvia  insisted  on  settling  her  entire 
income  on  her  husband,  in  spite  of  his  mother's 
advice  to  the  contrary,  for  she  said  that  she  be 
lieved  it  would  be  an  impossible  relation  for  him 
to  ask  her  for  money,  and  quite  natural  and  easy 
for  her  to  ask  him.  The  countess,  however,  car 
ried  her  point  in  making  Sylvia  promise  to  keep 
the  control  of  the  principal  in  her  own  hands.  It 
was  agreed  that  any  children  that  might  be  born 
to  them  should  be  brought  up  in  the  religion  of 
the  family.  This  was  acceded  to  readily  by  the 
younger  woman,  who  felt  her  own  faith  too  frail 
and  insufficient  to  induce  her  to  do  battle  for  it. 

Madame  de  La  Roche  undertook  to  obtain  the 
necessary  dispensation  for  the  marriage  cere 
mony. 

During  the  whole  conversation  there  had  been 
no  appearance  of  excitement,  embarrassment,  or 
any  emotion.  Both  women  made  it  as  much  a 
matter  of  business  as  possible,  and  it  was  only 
after  consulting  a  slip  of  paper  she  held  in  her 
hand  and  assuring  herself  that  every  point  had 


218          .4    TRANSATLANTIC    CHATELAINE. 

been  covered,  that  the  countess  leaned  across  the 
small  table  which  separated  them,  and,  taking 
Sylvia's  hand,  said,  — 

"  My  child,  it  is  time  for  me  to  take  a  per 
sonal  part  in  this  matter,  and  I  promise  you 
from  this  day  on  a  loyal  friendship  that  shall 
never  waver.  You  will  have  trials,  —  God  help 
you,  we  all  do.  But  while  I  live  you  may  come 
to  me  in  sorrow  or  in  joy,  and  you  will  always 
find  true  sympathy." 

Sylvia's  eyes  filled  with  tears.  She  was  touched 
deeply,  and  for  a  moment  her  voice  failed  her  ; 
then  she  said  :  — 

"  I  know  myself  too  little  to  promise  much  ; 
but  you  have  made  me  love  and  admire  you 
more  than  I  ever  loved  or  admired  any  one  be 
fore.  My  life  has  been  a  very  barren  affair  as 
far  as  affection  goes  ;  and  if  I  make  anything 
out  of  the  years  before  me,  it  will  be  because 
you  will  be  my  help  and  inspiration." 


CHAPTER   XL 

LOVE  (?)  affairs  move  rapidly  in  France, 
and  even  with  the  necessary  delays  caused  by 
the  waiting  for  Sylvia's  man  of  business,  who 
brought  innumerable  papers  to  be  signed,  and 
the  dispensation  from  Home,  the  marriage  took 
place  early  in  January.  The  months  that  went 
before  had  been  so  filled  with  a  hundred  and 
one  things  that  Sylvia  had  seen  Philippe  but  at 
long  intervals.  Had  she  been  the  most  design 
ing  of  women,  she  could  not  have  found  a  better 
way  to  increase  the  love  he  thought  he  felt  for 
her.  It  piqued  him  to  have  her  put  him  off 
from  day  to  day,  to  say  that  she  had  no  time  to 
receive  him,  and  to  seem  absorbed  in  a  multi 
tude  of  interests,  —  so  that  the  dawn  of  his  wed 
ding-day  really  found  him  an  impatient  lover. 

Sylvia,  in  this  interval,  set  herself  to  learn  the 
lesson  of  forgetfulness,  with  such  determination 
that  at  times  the  past,  that  past  connected  with 
Maurice  Kegiiier,  grew  dim.  But  again  there 
were  hours,  sleepless  hours,  perhaps  at  night, 
when  he  seemed  to  stand  before  her,  with  spec 
tral,  reproachful  eyes,  his  stern  lips  repeating 


220          A    TRANSATLANTIC    CHATELAINE. 

the  word  "Coward!  "  Had  she  been  mistaken  ? 
Had  she  been  cruel  ?  That  she  had  yielded  to 
a  burst  of  passion  amounting  to  frenzy  she  had 
acknowledged  ;  but  she  could  find  excuses  for 
an  emotion  which  had  swept  her  along,  taking 
all  powers  of  self-determination  from  her.  She 
was  shocked,  ashamed,  when  she  thought  of  her 
violence ;  but  her  deepest  self-reproach  was  caused 
by  the  questions  that  she  put  over  and  over  to 
herself  :  had  she  been  hasty  in  believing  the  ac 
count  of  his  birth  ?  Had  her  underlying,  selfish 
ambition  pushed  her  to  accept  what  she  was  told 
without  sufficient  investigation  ?  Would  she 
jump  at  a  conclusion  regarding  Philippe  with  the 
same  impetuosity  ?  Her  feelings  were  too  subtle 
for  her  to  analyze  them  with  precision.  The  idea 
that  Philippe  could  deceive  her  brought  no  mad 
dening  contraction  of  the  heart,  such  as  she  felt 
when  she  recalled  Maurice's  attempts  to  blind 
her  to  his  position.  Often  she  would  lie  awake 
the  long  night,  in  her  apartment  in  Paris,  and 
know  that  morning  had  come  by  the  muffled 
sounds  without,  telling  of  a  new  day.  And  the 
reflection  that  no  matter  what  she  felt,  or  what 
she  thought,  Time  was  always  moving  on  with 
his  measured  tread,  gave  her  a  fatalistic  philoso 
phy,  and  she  would  sleep,  soothed  by  the  inevi 
tability  of  events,  as  by  a  melancholy  slumber 
song. 


A    TRANSATLANTIC    CHATELAINE.          221 

These  dread  hours  of  self  -  revelation  made 
deep  impresses  on  her  character ;  but  they  were 
overlaid  by  the  events  and  excitements  that  lay 
uppermost,  and  during  the  days,  filled  with  a 
fresh  charm,  she  could  ignore  them.  She  was 
elated  by  the  thought  that  at  last  she  was  to  be 
some  one.  It  was  not  what  she  owned  that 
brought  her  the  new  respect  in  the  voices  ad 
dressing  her :  it  was  what  she  was.  No  thought 
of  her  loneliness,  her  lack  of  friends  and  family, 
dimmed  the  glitter  of  her  triumph.  It  was 
with  a  proud  heart  that  she  became  Philippe's 
wife,  the  Countess  de  La  Roche. 

The  first  weeks  of  her  married  life  passed  in 
a  turbulent  joy.  She  had  not  considered  love  as 
an  important  element  in  the  bargain  she  had 
made,  and,  lo !  love,  or  its  counterfeit  present 
ment,  was  hers. 

In  her  ignorance  of  life  beneath  the  surface, 
she  took  Philippe's  passion  for  genuine  affection, 
and  her  strong,  ardent  temperament  responded 
to  it. 

They  went  to  a  villa  near  Nice,  within  a  drive 
of  Monte  Carlo,  and  at  first  the  days  seemed  too 
short  for  the  enjoyment  of  all  the  pleasure  of 
fered  to  her.  Philippe  was  a  man  who  had  read 
much,  and  could  talk  well  and  brilliantly  of  his 
own  thoughts,  and  the  thoughts  of  others.  His 
experience  of  life  was  extended,  and  he  showed 


222          A    TRANSATLANTIC    CHATELAINE. 

Sylvia  a  new  existence  :  one  which  repelled  even 
while  it  fascinated  her.  Vice  in  itself  is  revolt 
ing-  to  a  pure  mind.  Vice  described  in  an  allur 
ing  way,  with  subtle  reticence,  may  be  made 
attractive.  Sylvia  felt  that  all  her  former  con 
victions  and  theories  were  useless  in  this  new 
adjustment  of  life.  She  had  played  like  a  child 
on  the  brink  of  hell,  never  seeing1  the  abyss  by 
which  she  had  danced.  Now  that  her  eyes  were 
opened,  it  lay  with  her  to  accept  the  inevitable, 
or  to  shrink  away  and  deny  its  existence.  It  is 
so  much  easier  to  shrug  one's  shoulders,  and  say 
that  you  don't  believe  half  the  bad  things  that 
you  hear,  than  to  investigate,  know  the  grievous 
truth,  and  then  take  your  stand  according  to  your 
convictions.  At  the  very  first,  while  under  the 
power  of  her  husband's  strong  charm,  Sylvia 
temporized.  But  her  nature  was  too  fine  to 
allow  her  to  pretend  to  be  led  blindfold,  when 
she  saw  the  way  before  her.  As  long  as  they 
could  be  by  themselves,  it  was  a  simple  matter 
to  let  things  drift  ;  but  when  the  neighboring 
villas  began  to  be  filled  by  friends  and  connec 
tions  of  Philippe's,  she  saw  that  she  must  strug 
gle,  either  with  her  new  environment,  or  her  own 
convictions. 

Philippe  had  often  amused  himself  by  telling 
her  what  he  knew  or  had  been  told  about  the 
various  occupants  of  the  country  -  places  about 


A    TRANSATLANTIC    CHATELAINE.          223 

them  ;  so  that  she  knew  by  name  almost  all  her 
new  neighbors,  and  had  a  clear  idea  of  whom 
she  was  to  meet  when  the  necessary  round  of 
visits  came  to  be  made.  Philippe  was  making 
a  list  of  names  on  a  sheet  of  paper,  while  she 
looked  over  his  shoulder,  showing  her  good 
memory  by  her  remarks  as  he  wrote  one  after 
another.  At  one  she  put  her  hand  down  on 
his,  — 

"  Philippe  !  Not  that  woman  ?  You  are  not 
going  to  take  me  ix>  see  her  ?  " 

He  looked  up  at  her  with  surprise. 

"  Why  not  ?  She  is  a  cousin  of  my  mother's, 
and  no  one  is  better  known." 

"  But  is  n't  she  the  one  you  told  me  that  story 
about  ?  —  that  disgraceful  affair  ?  You  know 
what  I  mean." 

"  Yes  ;  but  what  has  that  to  do  with  your 
calling  on  her?" 

"  Everything.  I  don't  care  to  know  a  person 
of  that  sort,  and  I  refuse  to  call  on  her." 

"  Well,  upon  my  word,  you  '11  find  it  hard  to 
know  many  people  at  that  rate  ;  you  were  n't  so 
particular  about  your  dear  Madame  Lee-Blair." 

"  Flora  is  not  in  the  least  like  this  creature. 
According  to  you,  there  is  n't  a  good  woman  in 
the  world." 

"  Oh,  yes,  there  is  :  and  she  's  not  only  good, 
but  fascinating  and  beautiful.  I  love  her  so 


224          A    TRANSATLANTIC    CHATELAINE. 

much  that  she  won't  refuse  me  this  first  favor 
that  I  ask  of  her.  It  would  hurt  my  mother, 
too." 

Sylvia  was  puzzled  and  troubled  by  this.  She 
was  no  prude,  but  her  standards  were  high,  and 
it  hurt  her  to  lower  them  an  inch  ;  but  she  re 
flected  that  after  all  she  was  bound  to  do  as  Phi 
lippe  bid  her ;  that  she  was  very  ignorant  of  the 
social  code  of  the  world  she  had  entered,  and  in 
the  end  she  reluctantly  yielded  to  his  entreaties. 

From  that  day  their  continual  tete-a-tete  was 
over.  Invitation  followed  invitation,  and  Sylvia 
found  herself  in  the  midst  of  people  whose  mere 
names  suggested  all  that  she  had  cared  most  for. 
The  small  coterie  into  whose  midst  she  was  ad 
mitted  were  the  descendants  of  men  who  had 
made  the  history  of  Europe.  For  the  first  time 
in  her  life  she  was  treated  as  an  equal  by  the 
people  about  her  ;  she  received  neither  the  ex 
aggerated  adulation  that  had  been  hers  at  Trou- 
ville,  nor  the  snubs  and  slights  which  had 
belonged  to  her  girlhood.  Here  she  took  her 
place  naturally ;  she  was  no  more  lovely  to  look 
upon  than  some  of  the  women  ;  her  fortune  did 
not  seem  colossal  beside  those  belonging  to  some 
of  the  men.  She  was  thrown  upon  her  own 
resources  to  hold  her  own  among  them,  and  began 
to  regard  herself  with  humility.  She  lost  the 
tinge  of  self-assertiveness  that  had  been  hers,  re- 


A    TRANSATLANTIC    CHATELAINE.         225 

suiting  perhaps  naturally  from  her  former  life, 
and  accepting  the  lesson  with  much  sweetness, 
and  not  a  trace  of  bitterness,  her  native  charm 
became  more  vivid  than  ever. 

But  in  spite  of  the  varied  amusements  of  her 
days,  she  was  beginning  to  be  uneasy.  She 
began  to  mentally  criticise  her  husband's  atti 
tude  regarding  her.  If  he  would  only  shield  her 
more  from  contact  with  people  whom  he  did  not 
respect !  If  he  would  only  look  at  things  from 
a  more  dignified  standpoint !  But  once  having 
decided  that  her  duty  was  to  obey  him  in  matters 
about  which  he  was  supposed  to  know  vastly 
more  than  she,  it  made  all  simple.  After  all, 
contact  with  imperfections  would  do  her  no 
harm  personally  ;  she  must  try  the  more  strenu 
ously  to  keep  her  own  mind  high  and  pure,  and 
look  on  life  with  a  larger  vision. 

With  some  characters  this  regime  would  have 
failed,  but  with  Sylvia  it  succeeded  ;  she  gained 
in  force  and  depth,  while  apparently  living  in  a 
giddy  round  of  pleasure  ;  she  was  unaware  of 
having  any  influence  on  those  about  her,  and 
doubtless  they  were  also  ignorant  of  any  such 
unlikely  occurrence.  But  it  is  certain  that  a 
subtle  air  of  discretion  pervaded  the  conversa 
tion  when  she  was  present,  and  a  delicate  note  as 
of  higher,  cleaner  motives  changed  in  a  slight 
degree  the  atmosphere. 


226          A    TRANSATLANTIC    CHATELAINE. 

As  for  Philippe's  state  of  mind,  that  too  had 
undergone  some  variations  since  his  wedding- 
day.  At  first  Sylvia's  very  innocence  had  for 
him  a  certain  piquancy,  and  her  views  of  the 
life  about  them,  although  he  considered  them 
narrow  and  puritanical,  seemed  to  fit  her  with 
a  bewitching  precision.  The  sensation  that  the 
more  pressing  of  his  debts  were  paid,  and  that 
he  still  had  money  in  his  pocket,  gave  him  for  a 
time  supreme  satisfaction  ;  but  we  are  unfortu 
nately  so  constructed  that  we  grow  accustomed 
to  agreeable  sensations,  and  they  lose  the  power 
to  stimulate  us ;  so  it  happened  that  gradually 
the  feeling  grew  on  him  that  he  was  caged,  a 
prisoner  ;  the  very  respectability  of  his  surround 
ings  smothered  him ;  he  longed  fiercely  for  an 
hour  of  the  old  liberty.  But  the  conventions  of 
his  present  life  hemmed  him  in,  and  he  had  only 
a  round  of  engagements  among  his  neighbors 
to  divert  his  mind.  Not  an  hour's  drive  away 
glittered  Monte  Carlo,  that  meretricious  jewel  in 
the  midst  of  the  pure  gems  bordering  the  Medi 
terranean,  and  his  thoughts  recurred  to  it  again 
and  again.  It  represented  at  that  time  all  that 
he  most  cared  for,  all  that  had  formerly  filled 
his  life  with  change  and  excitement.  He  had 
taken  Sylvia  there  soon  after  their  arrival,  and 
she  had  enjoyed  the  drive  along  that  most  per 
fect  shore  ;  she  had  been  amused  at  the  gay  sur- 


.-1    TRANSATLANTIC    CHATELAINE.         227 

roundings  in  the  cafe,  where  they  had  break 
fasted  ;  but  the  gaming-rooms  had  filled  her 
with  a  dreary  sadness.  The  air  oppressed  her, 
and  the  people  depressed  her.  She  was  thankful 
to  be  rolling  towards  home,  violet  mountains  on 
her  right,  a  violet  sea  on  her  left.  Since  then 
they  had  been  too  much  occupied  to  think  of 
going  again,  and  Philippe  found  himself  plan 
ning  how  to  break  away,  if  only  for  a  day,  and 
forget  that  his  debts  had  been  paid,  that  his  life 
had  been  changed,  and  that  he,  in  short,  had  be 
come  respectable  ! 

He  was  thinking  of  this  one  evening  as  they 
returned  from  an  unusually  long  ride,  just  in 
time  to  dress  for  a  dinner  at  a  chateau  some 
miles  away.  As  they  entered  the  hall,  the  but 
ler  handed  a  note  to  Sylvia,  which  she  read  with 
a  little  exclamation  of  annoyance,  and  then  ex 
plained  to  her  husband  that  it  was  from  their 
hostess,  asking  them  to  postpone  the  dinner  on 
account  of  illness  in  the  family. 

His  chance  had  come ! 

"  It  may  be  just  as  well,  Sylvia  ;  you  must  be 
tired  to  death  after  such  a  ride,  and  you  can  put 
your  feet  up  by  the  fire,  and  rest." 

"  And  you  ?  "  she  asked  with  a  little  playful 
nod ;  it  was  pleasant  to  have  him  so  thoughtful 
of  her  comfort. 

"  Oh,  I  will  take  the  carriage,  and  drive  over 


228         A    TRANSATLANTIC    CHATELAINE. 

to  Monte  Carlo  ;  they  couldn't  get  me  anything 
fit  to  eat  at  such  short  notice  at  home.  It 's  a 
pity  that  you  are  too  tired  to  go  with  me." 

"  But  I  'm  not  tired  at  all !  I  'd  love  to  go. 
We  '11  have  the  victoria,  it  is  such  a  delicious 
night,  and  I  will  fly  to  dress." 

In  less  than  an  hour  they  were  bowling  over 
the  hard  road  behind  a  pair  of  fresh  horses ; 
the  salt,  pleasantly  chill  air  blew  fresh  in  their 
faces,  making  Sylvia  nestle  among  her  furs, 
as  she  gave  herself  up  to  the  pleasure  of  the 
moment.  She  was  unaware  that  Philippe  had 
not  spoken  since  they  started ;  she  had  no  idea 
of  the  angry  tempest  gathering  force  in  his 
breast,  as  he  sat  so  quietly  by  her  side.  lie 
had  been  childishly  disappointed  when  she  had 
offered  to  accompany  him,  but  it  had  been  im 
possible  for  him  to  tell  her  that  he  did  not  want 
her.  They  were  still  in  the  honeymoon,  and  she 
was  young  and  fair,  even  if  she  were  his  wife. 
But  at  the  moment  of  starting,  she  had  uncon 
sciously  given  him  an  excuse  to  show  her  his 
displeasure ;  and  he  resolved  to  benefit  by  it. 
The  coachman  had  respectfully  suggested  that 
it  would  be  safer  to  start  for  home  fairly  early, 
as  the  moon  set  at  eleven,  and  he  did  not  like 
to  drive  on  that  road  in  the  dark. 

Before  Philippe  could  answer,  Sylvia,  accus 
tomed  for  many  years  to  give  her  orders  without 


A    TRANSATLANTIC    CHATELAINE. 

reference  to  any  one  but  herself,  assured  the 
man  that  they  would  be  ready  to  leave  Monte 
Carlo  by  nine  ;  as  soon,  in  fact,  as  they  had 
finished  their  dinner. 

It  was  tactless  on  her  part,  but  after  all  it 
was  a  trifle,  and  her  husband's  silence  gave  her 
no  hint  of  his  indignation.  The  real  essence  of 
love  was  so  utterly  wanting  between  them  that 
they  had  never  had  one  of  those  intimate  dis 
putes  which  an  indifferent  person  seldom  pro 
vokes  ;  their  views  on  almost  all  deep  subjects 
varied  widely,  but  they  never  discussed  them 
with  any  warmth,  only  with  a  good-tempered 
tolerance  which  proved  how  little  either  valued 
the  opinion  of  the  other ;  therefore  like  a  growl 
of  thunder  from  a  cloudless  sky  came  to  Sylvia's 
ears  her  husband's  angry  voice,  saying :  — 

"  Is  it  too  much  to  demand  that  I  shall  be 
treated,  at  least  in  the  presence  of  the  servants, 
as  though  I  were  a  person  of  some  small  conse 
quence?  " 

She  turned  quickly  towards  him,  half-suspect 
ing  a  hidden  joke  in  his  words,  but  even  in  the 
dim  light  she  saw  his  expression.  Her  voice  was 
geiminely  concerned  as  she  said  :  — 

"  Why,  Philippe,  I  do  not  know  what  you 
mean,  but  if  I  have  offended  you  I  am  very 
sorry." 

"  It  is  not  a  question  of  being  offended,"  he 


230    ,4  TRANSATLANTIC  CHATELAINE. 

returned  in  a  surly  growl ;  u  it  is  a  question  of 
teaching  you  not  to  answer  my  servant  when  he 
speaks  to  me,  and  giving  him  orders  that  I  shall 
countermand/' 

Sylvia  was  far  from  being  a  meek  woman  ; 
although  her  father's  training  had  not  subdued 
her  spirit,  it  had  taught  her  self-control,  there 
fore  her  voice  was  if  anything  sweeter  and  softer 
than  usual  when  she  said  slowly  :  "  I  hardly 
think  you  see  how  brutal  and  ungentlemanly  a 
remark  that  is.  I  have  never  been  spoken  to  so 
before,  and  I  am  willing  for  this  time  to  forget 
that  you  have  insulted  me." 

"  Well,  if  you  call  it  an  insult  I  am  sorry  for 
you,  for  it  is  a  method  of  treatment  most  women 
put  up  with,  and  I  fancy  you  are  no  more  an 
exception  than  I  am.  What  people  do  in  your 
country  I  don't  know  or  care,  but  let  me  tell  you 
that  here  the  husband  is  master." 

She  was  dumb  with  fury  ;  and  trying  to  keep 
from  bursting  into  a  storm  of  angry  tears,  leant 
back  in  her  corner  without  a  word. 

At  first  her  silence  stirred  Philippe  to  further 
surliness,  but  as  it  continued  unbroken,  and  the 
gray  night  settled  round  them,  he  felt  that  he 
had  had  his  blow-out,  and  began  to  wonder  why 
he  had  been  so  infernally  out  of  temper.  There 
was  also  a  feeling  of  relief  that  he  had  said  his 
say,  for  up  to  this  time  he  had  had  a  lurking  fear 


-1    TRANSATLANTIC    CHATELAINE.  281 

of  what  his  wife  might  really  be  ;  he  had  never 
seen  the  depths  troubled,  and  he  had  dreaded 
the  first  experiment ;  now,  thank  Heaven,  he  had 
made  the  plunge,  and  to  his  comfortable  sur 
prise  he  found,  as  he  imagined,  no  depths,  only 
shallows.  Hugging  his  new  knowledge  of  her 
character  he  thought :  "  By  Jove,  I  am  lucky. 
Most  women  would  have  stormed  back  or  cried ; 
but  she  's  been  well  trained,  and  takes  it  like  a 
man." 

So  consoling  had  his  reflection  been  that  his 
voice  had  regained  its  usual  affability  when  he 
said :  — 

"  That  effect  of  the  moon  rising  is  pretty  over 
there,  Sylvia,  —  no,  on  your  right,  dear ;  you 
don't  see." 

She  neither  answered  nor  turned  her  head  ; 
her  anger  had  not  abated,  but  only  cooled  from 
the  red-hot  molten  state  into  the  hardness  of 
iron.  He  peered  at  her  through  the  soft  gray 
light,  but  could  only  see  the  fine  lines  of  her 
profile  dark  against  the  pale  sky ;  her  silence 
surprised  him,  although  it  did  not  daunt  him  ; 
tears  or  a  fierce  outburst  of  temper  would  have 
annoyed  him,  but  he  would  have  known  how  to 
deal  with  them  ;  this  attitude  puzzled  him. 

He  put  out  his  hand  and  drew  one  of  hers 
from  her  muff,  pressing  it  affectionately :  his 
pressure  was  not  returned,  and  for  a  few  mo- 


232    A  TRANSATLANTIC  CHATELAINE. 

ments  it  lay  passively  in  his ;  then  it  was  with 
drawn  gently. 

"  Would  you  mind  my  smoking  a  cigarette, 
darling  ?  " 

"  Not  at  all." 

"  Oh,  you  have  spoken  at  last ;  why  would  n't 
you  answer  me  before  ?  " 

He  laughed  as  he  said  this,  and  put  his  arm 
round  her  shoulders  ;  her  voice  was  still  low  and 
unshaken  as  she  replied  :  — 

"  I  did  not  notice  you  had  asked  me  any  ques 
tion." 

"  But  you  are  angry  with  me  because  I  blew 
out  at  you  ?  " 

"  Oh,  no  —  hardly  that ;  I  have  not  the  right 
to  be  angry." 

"  What  do  you  mean  by  that  ?  " 

"  I  fancy  you  would  not  understand  if  I  told 
you.  I  hope  you  will  not  think  me  rude  if  I  do 
not  speak  any  more  ;  the  air  is  too  fresh  for  my 
throat." 

He  drew  his  arm  sulkily  away,  and  she  settled 
herself  again  among  her  furs ;  he  began  to  be 
sorry  that  he  had  been  pleasant  so  soon.  It 
never  did  any  good  to  let  a  woman  see  that  you 
were  too  ready  to  kiss  and  be  friends  again. 
Not  another  word  was  spoken  until  they  arrived 
at  the  cafe  where  they  intended  dining,  and  then 
as  Philippe  carefully  helped  his  wife  out  of  the 
carriage  he  said  to  the  coachman  :  — 


A  TRANSATLANTIC  CHATELAINE.    233 

"  Be  here  at  eleven,  and  be  sure  the  hot-water 
tin  is  filled  for  Madame  la  comtesse." 
The  man  looked  puzzled  and  said,  — 
"Monsieur  le  comte  said  eleven?" 
"  Yes,"  returned  Philippe  sharply ;  and  offer 
ing  his  arm  to  Sylvia,  added,  "  You  see  how  you 
have  already  given  the  impression  that  you  are 
the  one  to  take  orders  from,  and,  by  the  Lord,  I 
won't  stand  it." 

As  they  sat  in  the  brightly  lighted  room,  rilled 
with  groups  of  gay  people,  the  women  in  their 
prettiest  frocks,  the  men  well  groomed  and  full 
of  animation,  Sylvia  felt  as  if  she  were  in  a  jail. 
She  played  with  the  food  placed  before  her,  and 
answered  her  husband's  remarks  mechanically, 
—  "yes,"  "no,"  hardly,"  —she  could  have  re 
peated  every  word  he  said  to  her,  but  the  mean 
ing  did  not  penetrate,  only  the  sound  reached 
her  ;  and  all  the  time  her  mind  was  working. 

"  I  have  no  right  to  complain  ;  I  married  him, 
not  for  himself,  but  for  what  he  represented ;  I 
told  Maurice  I  wanted  a  coronet  on  my  handker 
chief  —  well,  I  have  more  coronets  than  I  can 
count.  I  am  beginning  to  hate  the  sight  of  them. 
Are  there  no  men,  then,  in  the  world  to  be 
trusted?  I  don't  say  love,  that  means  so  little, 
and  goes  so  soon  ;  a  word  kills  it.  These  people 
do  not  know  they  are  sitting  in  the  room  with 
a  murderer,  but  if  love  can  be  all  poets  tell  us 


234  A    TRANSATLANTIC    CHATELAINE. 

it  is,  it  is  more  real  than  anything  in  the  world, 
and  mine  has  just  been  killed." 

"  Drink  some  champagne,  Sylvia,  you  look 
pale  ;  you  were  too  tired  to  come  after  such  a 
deuce  of  a  ride  as  we  took." 

She  obediently  lifted  her  glass  to  her  lips,  but 
set  it  down  again  without  tasting  it ;  her  throat 
seemed  to  be  closed,  and  it  was  impossible  to 
swallow. 

Philippe  felt  her  change  of  manner,  but  it  was 
difficult  to  challenge,  so  impalpable  was  it ;  he 
relapsed  into  an  offended  silence,  and  began  to 
mentally  justify  his  conduct.  He  most  unchar 
acteristically  growled  at  the  bill  when  the  garcon 
brought  it,  but  the  man  was  used  to  daily  re 
marks  of  a  like  nature,  and  would  have  felt  a 
sense  of  something  being  wrong  if  he  had  missed 
them. 

In  the  same  sullen  manner  he  offered  Sylvia 
his  arm  and  they  crossed  the  brilliant  little  place 
and  entered  the  casino  ;  her  quiet  passiveness 
annoyed  him  more  by  this  time  than  any  out 
break  could  have  done.  He  found  her  a  seat  at 
a  table,  and  gave  her  a  handful  of  gold  ;  then  he 
watched  his  chance,  and  at  last  secured  a  place 
at  the  same  table  nearly  opposite  her,  and  settled 
to  play  with  almost  a  ferocious  eagerness. 

The  air  was  heavy,  bringing  the  hot  blood  to 
Sylvia's  cheeks,  and  making  her  temples  throb 


A    TRANSATLANTIC    CHATELAINE.          235 

with  pain  ;  she  knew  that  she  could  not  sit  long 
where  she  was  unless  she  played,  so  at  intervals 
she  pushed  a  napoleon  on  to  some  place  ;  once 
or  twice  she  gained,  but  generally  the  gold  piece 
was  raked  away  from  her.  It  was  nine  when 
they  entered,  and  every  now  and  then  she  looked 
at  the  jeweled  watch  hanging  from  her  chate 
laine  ;  slowly,  slowly  the  hands  moved  round 
to  ten.  Could  she  bear  it  another  hour?  She 
glanced  at  Philippe  :  he  was  playing  steadily  with 
apparent  indifference,  but  she  noticed,  in  spite 
of  his  careless  manner,  that  his  nostrils  were 
dilated,  and  that  there  was  a  glitter  of  ex 
citement  in  his  roving,  restless  eyes.  Heavier 
and  denser  grew  the  air ;  the  women  in  their 
gems  and  paint  and  meretricious  clothing  moved 
quietly  through  the  rooms,  their  real  business 
hidden  beneath  the  cloak  of  an  occasional  stake 
won  or  lost.  As  Sylvia  looked  at  them,  and  de 
tected  the  greed  and  lust  lurking  in  their  faces, 
she  shuddered  ;  then  she  grew  cold  and  tense  as 
she  thought :  "  Can  I  blame  them  ?  Did  I  not 
sell  myself  for  a  price  as  surely  as  they  are  sell 
ing  themselves  ?  I  am  more  to  blame  than  the 
worst  creature  in  this  place  ;  no  want  drove  me 
-^-  only  a  caprice."  The  memory  of  Ethel  New- 
come's  words  about  the  advisability  of  ticketing 
the  engaged  young  ladies  with  the  word  SOLD 
in  large  letters  came  to  her,  and  with  a  bitter 


236          A    TRANSATLANTIC    CHATELAINE. 

self -scorn  she  thought,  "  How  trite  I  am  ;  only  a 
repetition  of  a  species  without  end.  I  have  not 
even  the  consolation  of  being  original.  I  have 
not  even  the  excuse  of  ignorance." 

She  felt  stifled  morally  as  well  as  physically ; 
there  was  a  fierce  revolt  going  on  in  her.  The 
reaction  to  her  short-lived  excitement  and  satis 
faction  had  come,  and  with  it  all  loss  of  common 
sense,  of  the  proportion  of  things  for  the  time 
being. 

Dore  has  painted  a  picture  called  The  Novice. 
Among  a  group  of  old,  time-benumbed  monks 
who  sit  mumbling  over  their  beads,  a  young 
man  has  just  realized  that  he  is  hopelessly,  irre 
trievably  bound ;  either  he  must  become  like 
his  companions,  or  go  mad,  and  one  can  see  the 
dawn  of  insanity  in  his  agonized  eyes  that  look 
out  from  the  white  face,  his  whole  attitude  re 
minding  one  of  a  dog  straining  dumbly  at  his 
leash.  It  is  a  picture  that  haunts  and  sickens 
you,  that  you  cannot  forget.  Years  afterwards 
Sylvia  saw  it,  and  she  said,  "  He  must  have  seen 
my  soul  that  night  at  the  gaming-table,  and  then 
painted  this." 

It  did  her  no  good  to  remember  that  she  had 
been  warned,  or  to  reflect  on  her  own  courage 
and  determination  to  shape  her  future  to  her 
own  ends ;  she  had  lost  both  courage  and  re 
solve  ;  she  felt  frightened  for  the  first  time  in 


A    TRANSATLANTIC    CHATELAINE.          237 

her  life,  for  she  had  seen  a  glimpse  of  a  brutality 
that  had  descended  through  countless  genera 
tions,  hidden  by  modern  refinements,  forgotten, 
perhaps,  during  whole  lifetimes,  but  always  there, 
ingrained  in  the  very  nature  of  a  race  which  had 
acknowledged  one  master  only,  the  lawful  King 
of  France. 

For  the  time  mental  distress  had  made  her 
forget  her  physical  discomfort ;  then  some  one 
jarred  her  chair,  —  the  chain  of  thought  was 
broken,  and  she  realized  that  her  head  was 
aching  violently,  and  that  the  room  was  swim 
ming  and  swaying  about  her ;  she  moved  away 
from  the  table,  and  steadying  herself  by  hold 
ing  on  to  the  backs  of  the  players'  chairs,  for 
the  hour  was  late,  and  few  people  were  standing 
about,  she  reached  Philippe. 

As  she  stood  behind  him  she  looked  once 
more  at  her  watch,  and  saw  that  it  was  five  min 
utes  of  eleven. 

"  It  is  time  to  leave,"  she  said.  He  shook 
his  head  impatiently,  but  did  not  answer ;  for  a 
moment  she  waited,  until  she  saw  the  heap  of 
gold  before  him  raked  away,  and  as  he  placed 
another  on  a  square  she  said :  "  I  am  going 
now ;  if  you  do  not  care  to  drive  home  with  me 
you  can  probably  find  some  way  of  following." 

Her  anger  had  given  her  strength,  and  she 
walked  steadily  towards  the  entrance  hall,  but 


238          .4    TRANSATLANTIC    CHATELAINE. 

before  she  had  reached  the  outer  lobby  her  hus 
band  was  by  her  side. 

He  did  not  swear ;  well-bred  Frenchmen  sel 
dom  do,  but  his  expression  and  the  tone  of  his 
voice  were  oaths  in  themselves. 

"  You  changed  the  luck  ;  it  is  the  last  time 
you  shall  come  to  Monte  Carlo  with  me." 

"  Yes,  it  is  the  last  time,"  she  acquiesced,  hold 
ing  her  head  high,  but  white  to  the  very  lips. 

When  a  woman  bears  an  insult  in  silence  and 
stifles  her  fury,  she  is  more  to  be  feared,  also 
more  to  be  pitied,  than  one  who  is  able  to  rave 
and  cry,  and  lose  sight  of  the  mental  in  the 
physical. 

During  the  long,  dark  drive  towards  their  villa 
there  was  time  for  thought,  and  the  hopeless 
questions,  "  But  what  can  I  do  ?  —  how  can  I 
help  it?"  again  and  again  asked  themselves,  al 
ways  answered  by,  "  Nothing  —  I  cannot  help 
it." 

They  entered  the  house  in  silence,  and  with 
out  a  word  Sylvia  went  upstairs.  Justine  was 
in  her  room,  and  began  to  help  her  mistress  as 
usual  to  undress  ;  she  had  taken  the  fur  cloak 
from  her  shoulders  and  was  laying  it  over  a  chair 
when  Philippe  walked  in  without  knocking. 

"  You  may  go,  Justine,  —  good-night,"  he  said 
abruptly,  and  stood  looking  at  her  until  she  left 
the  room  ;  then  he  went  close  up  to  Sylvia,  who 


A  TRANSATLANTIC  CHATELAINE.     239 

had  seated  herself  in  a  low  chair  by  the  fire. 
She  was  bitterly  cold,  and  felt  stunned ;  his 
words  roused  her. 

"  Now,  then,  what  is  it  ?  —  answer  me ;  are  you 
going  to  make  a  scene  every  time  I  find  fault  ?  " 

"  I  did  not  think  I  had  made  any  scene,"  she 
answered  slowly. 

"  I  don't  care  what  you  think,  Sylvia,  but  you 
have  made  me  very  uncomfortable  and  miser 
able  to-night ;  you  know  I  love  you,  my  darling, 
you  know  that  anything  that  disturbed  our  hap 
piness  together  would  be  unbearable." 

He  had  seated  himself  on  the  broad  arm  of 
her  chair,  had  put  his  arm  over  her  shoulder 
and  drawn  her,  almost  crushed  her,  against  him  ; 
his  familiarity,  his  appropriation  of  her,  revolted 
her ;  but  she  did  not  draw  away,  she  remained 
passive. 

"Why  don't  you  speak  to  me,  cherie?"  he 
said  tenderly,  bending  and  kissing  her  on  the 
smooth  nape  of  her  neck  ;  a  thrill  of  horror  ran 
through  her,  but  still  gently  she  rose  and  stood 
facing  him. 

"  I  am  very  tired  to-night,  and  hardly  able 
to  talk  ;  I  may  look  at  things  to-morrow  in  a 
different  light,  but  now  I  would  like  to  be  alone," 
she  said. 

He  eyed  her  narrowly  for  a  moment,  half  in 
clined  to  push  matters  further  ;  then  he  saw  her 


240         A    TRANSATLANTIC    CHATELAINE. 

marble  whiteness  and  decided  to  believe  her 
words  ;  it  was  more  politic. 

"  Very  well  then,  mignonne,  have  your  own 
way  ;  kiss  me  good-night,  and  let  Justine  give 
you  something  to  drink  and  take  care  of  you/' 

She  submitted  to  his  embrace, -and  then  stood 
as  he  had  left  her  until  he  went  through  the  door 
between  their  rooms  ;  very  quietly  she  moved  to 
wards  it,  closed  it,  and  turned  the  key.  As  she 
did  this  a  look  of  momentary  relief  swept  over 
her  face. 

"  There  are  always  keys,"  she  said ;  then  for 
one  moment  her  self  -  control  gave  way.  She 
flung  herself  on  her  bed,  and  sobbed  with  the 
outspoken  grief  of  solitude. 

"  O  my  God,  to  be  free  again,  only  to  be  free," 
she  said  over  and  over. 

Without  the  door,  her  square  face  pressed 
against  it,  stood  the  old  servant,  hearing  every 
moan,  every  bitter  word.  She  did  not  move  ; 
she  scarcely  breathed,  but  her  eyes  gleamed  with 
the  savage  light  of  a  wild  beast  whose  cubs  are 
killed  before  her.  A  hatred  against  Philippe 
leaped  into  life  in  her  undisciplined  breast,  and 
from  that  hour  on  became  a  part  of  her  very 
being.  At  length  the  sobs  within  the  room 
ceased,  silence  fell  on  the  darkness,  and  hoping 
that  her  idol  slept,  Justine  stole  away. 

But  Sylvia  had  only  worn  out  the  wrappings 


A    TRANSATLANTIC    CHATELAINE.  241 

of  her  grief ;  when  she  became  calm  again  she 
rose,  drew  her  furs  about  her,  put  some  fresh  logs 
on  the  fire,  and  spread  out  her  hands  in  the 
warmth ;  she  knew  that  this  was  a  crisis  in  her 
life,  and  felt  that  she  must  use  all  her  powers 
to  reason  with  her  anger  and  disappointment ; 
nothing  must  be  done  hurriedly  or  without  re 
flection. 

At  first  her  only  thought  was  how  to  escape 
open  scandal,  and  yet  never,  never  live  the  life 
again  of  the  past  five  weeks.  Wild  plans  of  dis 
gusting  her  husband  with  her,  of  making  him 
fall  in  love  with  some  other  woman,  came  to  her, 
and  absorbed  her  in  a  sort  of  story  -  book  way 
for  a  moment,  but  she  dismissed  these  fancies, 
and  tried  to  lay  out  a  definite  and  defensible 
course  of  action.  Suddenly  she  saw  as  in  a 
vision  the  chapel  at  La  Roche,  the  recumbent 
figures,  the  tempered  light ;  she  remembered  her 
promise  to  Philippe's  mother. 

Was  she  planning  to  keep  it  ?  Had  she  fore 
seen  any  love  in  her  married  life  ? 

"Oh,"  she  moaned,  "the  make-believe  love  I 
have  thought  real  has  made  it  so  much  harder 
to  bear." 

Then  the  thought  faced  her,  stern,  relentless : 
"  I  am  no  longer  free  to  live  for  myself  alone. 
I  have,  with  open  eyes  and  warnings  in  my  ears, 
bound  myself  to  an  important  family  :  I  have 


24L'  A    TRANSATLANTIC    CHATELAINE. 

no  right  to  think  of  my  own  pleasures  or  sor 
rows  ;  I  have  knowingly  assumed  a  great  respon 
sibility.  Am  I  to  allow  the  name  of  La  Itoche 
to  die  out  because  I  have  fallen  out  of  love  — 
with  my  husband  ?  I  may  not ;  I  must  do  my 
duty  fairly,  —  I  must  accept  the  life  I  have 
chosen,  God  helping  me."  But  though  she 
spoke  the  words,  it  was  with  a  dreary  conscious 
ness  that  God's  help  was  not  for  her,  that  she 
did  not  believe  in  it  when  it  was  needed,  and  a 
terror  fell  upon  her  at  the  utter  helplessness  of 
her  condition.  She  repeated  over  and  over  to 
herself  mechanically :  "  I  have  a  husband  who 
is  brave  and  faithful,  true  to  his  Church  and  his 
country.  I  must  not  ask  for  more." 

The  flame  of  the  lamp  sputtered,  flared  up 
and  then  died  down,  leaving  the  reddened, 
smoking  wick ;  the  gray  morning  light  showed 
between  the  drawn  curtains.  There  is  the  u  jo 
cund  day  that  stands  tiptoe  on  the  misty  moun 
tain-tops,"  gilding  the  fair  world  bathed  in  the 
dew  of  night,  and  bringing  light  and  joy  in  its 
train.  There  also  is  the  cold  dawn  that  shows 
life  as  it  is. 

Sylvia  looked  about  her  with  hot,  aching  eyes ; 
her  crumpled  gloves  were  on  the  sofa,  where  she 
had  tossed  them  the  night  before ;  the  roses  she 
had  worn  at  her  breast  lay  drooping  and  faded 
on  a  table  ;  the  wood  was  burned  out,  and  the 


A    TRANSATLANTIC    CHATELAINE.          243 

ashes  were  heaped  soulless  on  the  hearth ;  the 
smoking  lamp  had  filled  the  room  with  its  odor, 
and  as  she  opened  .the  window  to  let  in  some 
fresh  air  she  shivered ;  a  light  fog  hid  the  sea ; 
a  half-used  cigarette  lay  on  the  unraked  path ; 
over  everything  was  an  exaggerated  aspect  of 
the  commonplace,  the  unbeautif  ul. 

"It  is  like  life  without  love,"  Sylvia  thought, 
as  she  moved  towards  her  bed,  stiff  with  fatigue, 
unconscious  that  as  the  last  red  spark  of  passion 
faded  out,  the  faint,  glimmering  belief  in  love 
as  love  was  kindled. 


CHAPTER  XII. 

WE  all  know  how  easy  it  is  to  form  plans, 
and  how  difficult  it  is  to  carry  them  out ;  and 
Sylvia  found  herself  much  tried  at  first  in  her 
new  relations  to  her  husband. 

He  had  slept  off  his  anger  and  his  headache. 
The  many  gold  pieces  he  had  won  served  to 
make  him  forget  the  few  lost  at  the  end  of  the 
evening,  and  he  generously,  as  he  thought,  de 
cided  to  overlook  Sylvia's  outburst  of  temper ; 
consequently  he  met  her  with  his  usual  affec 
tionate  manner,  and  she  found  herself  wavering 
during  the  following  week  between  a  feeling  of 
aversion  and  a  stinging  self-reproach  at  her  own 
revolt  against  him.  She  had,  however,  a  stub 
born  will,  and  she  forced  herself  to  play  ade 
quately  her  new  part.  She  was  always  digni 
fied,  acquiescent,  and  cold,  receiving  but  never 
returning:  his  caresses.  If  this  had  been  the 

O 

state  of  things  immediately  after  their  marriage, 
the  chances  are  that  Philippe  would  have  been 
piqued,  and  would  have  set  himself  resolutely 
to  win  her  love  ;  but  now  it  was  a  little  late  in 
the  day  for  that.  He  had  done  all  the  wooing 


A    TRANSATLANTIC    CHATELAINE.          1^45 

he  intended  to.  For  the  future  he  proposed  to 
please  himself.  If  his  wife  did  not  care  for 
him,  then  there  were  those  who  did,  and  he 
smiled  insolently  as  he  thought  of  the  little  Par 
isian  apartment  still  occupied. 

At  this  juncture  Sylvia  sent  for  Flora,  who 
gladly  obeyed  the  summons.  She  arrived  one 
blue,  dazzling  afternoon  towards  the  end  of  Feb 
ruary,  and  was  an  animated  question  mark  for 
an  hour  afterwards. 

"  Dearest  Sylvia,  are  you  well  ?  you  look  pale, 
but  very  handsome.  Who  made  you  that  gray 
poplin  ?  Who  are  your  neighbors  ?  Do  you 
find  this  enchanting  house  comfortable?  Are 
your  servants  satisfactory  ?  Is  your  husband  — 
well  —  is  he  "  — 

"  Is  he  satisfactory,  too  ?  don't  hesitate  to 
use  the  same  expression  for  him  and  the  ser 
vants,  dear.  They  say  that  brides  always  boast 
that  their  husbands  are  perfect,  and  illustrate 
it  by  saying  they  button  up  their  boots.  Don't 
be  shocked  if  I  tell  you  that  Philippe  has  never 
even  offered  to  button  mine." 

Sylvia's  voice  betrayed  nothing  to  her  friend's 
quick  ears,  but  there  was  a  new  look  about  her 
eyes  that  would  have  struck  even  a  less  observant 
person  than  Flora  Lee-Blair.  She  had  never 
been  so  lovely  or  so  womanly.  The  slight  touch 
of  self-assertion  of  former  days  had  gone,  and 


240  A    TRANSATLANTIC    CHATELAINE. 

her  low,  thrilling  voice  was  seldom  heard  now 
saying  sharp  things.  Always  graceful  and  rather 
quick  in  her  movements,  in  repose  she  gave  an 
effect  of  absolute  quiet,  and  impressed  one  as  a 
person  who  required  a  luxurious  setting.  Flora 
looked  at  her  admiringly,  as  she  leaned  back 
in  her  low  chair,  the  fire  touching  with  rosy  re 
flections  the  silver  gray  of  her  dress,  one  small 
slipper  resting  on  the  white  fur  rug. 

"  You  always  make  a  picture,  whatever  you 
do,  and  I  don't  understand  it,"  she  said  almost 
complainingly. 

"  Oh,  how  nice  it  is  to  hear  you  say  kind 
things  to  me  again,  you  dear  old  Flora,"  said 
Sylvia,  with  a  little  break  in  her  voice.  She 
had  not  known  how  she  longed  for  a  bit  of  love 
until  now. 

Mrs.  Lee-Blair  was  as  affectionate  as  her 
rather  hard  life  allowed  her  to  be,  but  it  was 
seldom  that  she  showed  it.  Now  for  some 
strange  reason  the  memory  of  her  little  girl,  the 
only  child  she  had  ever  had,  who  died  when  she 
was  eight,  came  to  her,  and  the  tears  rushed  to 
her  eyes. 

"  Sylvia,  dear,  I  have  no  child  —  and  you  have 
no  mother,  —  and  —  well,  let 's  be  awfully  good 
to  each  other,"  she  ended  rather  lamely,  rubbing 
her  face  violently  with  her  handkerchief. 

"  Thank  you,  Flora.     Everyone  must  live  his 


A    TRANSATLANTIC    CHATELAINE.          247 

own  life,  but  a  little  love  goes  a  long  way  to 
wards  making  it  bearable." 

When  Mrs.  Lee-Blair  was  alone  in  her  own 
room  she  dabbed  a  little  powder  round  her  eyes, 
and  over  her  nose,  wondering  at  her  sudden 
emotion. 

"  Yes,  —  my  black  satin,"  she  said  over  her 
shoulder  to  her  maid  ;  and  then  went  on  to  her 
self,  "  It  was  the  look  in  her  eyes,  poor  girl.  It 
is  enough  to  make  any  one  cry  ;  and  a  bride  of 
six  weeks  to  speak  of  life  being  bearable.  Dear, 
my  eyes  are  all  red  again,  and  that  tear  has 
made  a  paste  with  the  powder.  What  a  fool  I 
am  :  yesterday  I  should  have  said  I  did  n't  care 
a  tuppenny  for  her  except  as  a  convenience,  and 
to-day  I  feel  fond  of  her.  Ah,  but  you  see  it  is 
not  the  same  person." 

That  Flora  had  been  largely  instrumental  in 
making  this  marriage  ;  that  the  power  over  Syl 
via,  flatteringly  suggested  as  belonging  to  her 
by  Philippe,  had  become  hers  in  reality,  thanks 
to  the  poisoned  dagger  with  which  he  had  armed 
her  ;  that  she  had  benefited  by  the  affair  from  a 
mercenary  point  of  view,  —  all  these  pi-opositions 
were  true.  It  was  in  vain  that  she  told  herself 
it  was  the  best  thing  possible  for  Sylvia,  a  little 
nobody,  to  have  become  the  wife  of  one  of  the 
best  known  nobles  in  France.  It  was  in  vain 
that  she  repeated  over  and  over  that  she  had 


248          A    TRANSATLANTIC    CHATELAINE. 

done  only  what  hundreds  of  other  people  did, 
in  accepting  a  handsome  commission  from  the 
count,  or  at  least  the  promise  of  it.  Up  to  the 
present  moment  her  bank  account  was  very 
agreeable  reading ;  but  if  Philippe  kept  his 
word  it  would  become  an  every-day  affair  to  have 
money  enough  to  supply  her  wants.  He  had 
told  her  that  she  should  own  enough  to  live  com 
fortably  on  the  income.  But  in  spite  of  these 
complacent  musings,  the  first  sight  of  Sylvia  as 
a  bride  had  been  very  distressing  to  her.  She 
could  not  shake  off  the  impression  that  if  the 
young  wife  were  unhappy,  it  was  owing  to  her 
meddling.  Justine,  too,  had  an  exasperating 
habit  of  looking  at  her  with  reproachful  eyes, 
never  speaking,  but  conveying  a  mute  accusa 
tion. 

There  were  days  when  she  was  tempted  to 
take  herself  off,  she  was  so  uneasy  ;  but  calm 
reflection  restrained  her.  Sylvia  knew  an  ex 
tremely  smart  set  of  people,  and  Flora  liked 
going  to  dinners  and  breakfasts  with  them.  She 
enjoyed  the  soft  delights  of  the  daily  life  ;  be 
sides,  as  she  argued  honestly  enough,  she  could 
make  things  happier,  more  cheerful  for  Sylvia 
if  she  stayed.  So  the  days  went  on,  and  she 
grew  used  to  the  want  of  spontaneous  happi 
ness  in  the  household.  There  were  no  disputes, 
no  sharp  words,  and  in  time  she  began  to  tell 


.4    TRANSATLANTIC    CHATELAINE.         249 

herself  that  she  had  been  over-sensitive  in  the 
beginning'. 

Philippe  found  it  a  great  convenience  to  have 
some  one  to  whom  Sylvia  thought  it  necessary 
to  devote  herself,  and  when  she  was  with  her 
friend  it  was  easy  enough  for  him  to  reach 
Monte  Carlo.  His  old  passion  for  gaming, 
which  seems  ingrained  in  the  French  nature, 
shook  itself  after  its  short  rest,  and  showed  re 
newed  vigor.  There  were  other  things,  too,  that 
were  attractive  in  the  small  kingdom  between 
the  sea  and  the  mountains,  and  friends  running 
down  from  Paris  for  a  day  or  two  of  change 
found  him  quite  as  ready  to  join  them  as  before 
his  marriage. 

Mrs.  Lee-Blair  used  to  sigh  and  lift  her  eye 
brows  at  him  when  they  met  after  one  of  his 
absences,  during  which  she  and  Sylvia  had  dined 
tete-a-tete,  and  spent  a  long  evening  alone  to 
gether.  Sometimes  he  would  laugh  sheepishly 
and  look  quite  ready  for  a  flattering,  playful 
scolding ;  sometimes  he  would  pay  no  attention 
to  her  little  efforts  to  reform  him.  March  was 
drawing  towards  its  close,  and  the  three  months' 
lease  of  the  villa  was  nearly  exhausted.  People 
were  beginning  to  go  to  Paris  for  Easter,  and 
one  day  Philippe  announced  that  he  thought  they 
had  better  be  starting-  for  La  Roche. 

For  weeks  Sylvia  had   been  longing  for  this. 


250         A    TRANSATLANTIC    CHATELAINE. 

She  felt  that  she  could  learn  her  life's  lesson 
more  easily  if  she  were  in  her  future  home, 
could  harden  herself  to  its  rigors,  and  shape 
herself  to  its  needs.  Therefore  she  acceded  will 
ingly  enough  to  her  husband's  wish,  and  gladly 
left  the  blue  Mediterranean  behind  her.  Their 
way  took  them  through  Paris,  and  there  they 
lingered  for  Easter,  for  summer  outfits,  and  also 
to  leave  Sylvia's  apartment,  as  Flora  was  going 
with  them  to  Touraine  for  a  while.  She  had 
made  the  best  use  of  her  wits  and  time  at  Nice, 
and  was  rewarded  by  numerous  invitations  to 
the  country  places  of  her  new  friends,  which 
quite  filled  up  her  summer  and"  autumn. 

These  delays  made  it  well  into  May  before 
Sylvia  and  Philippe  started  for  La  Roche,  leav 
ing  Flora  to  follow  them  in  a  few  days.  They 
took  an  afternoon  train,  and  reached  the  sta 
tion  late  in  the  evening.  The  primrose  sunset 
light  still  lingered  in  the  west,  and  a  full  moon 
poured  its  silver  wealth  over  the  warm,  resting 
earth.  Every  fresh  leaf  glittered  in  the  bril 
liancy  as  they  drove  along,  the  river  shone  with 
reflected  splendor,  and  the  tall  poplars  threw 
black  shadows  on  the  broad  peaceful  meadows. 
It  was  a  night  almost  oppressive  in  its  beauty. 
Sylvia  felt  unequal  to  it,  her  body  hampered  her ; 
she  remembered  having  told  Maurice  Regnier 
once  that  all  her  enthusiasm  was  for  things. 


A    TRANSATLANTIC    CHATELAINE.         2ol 

not  people  ;  but  to-night  she  could  not  rise  to 
enjoyment.  A  sadness  that  had  nothing  to  do 
with  the  difficulties  of  her  life  possessed  her. 
There  was  a  sense  of  something  just  beyond  her 
grasp  which  was  escaping  her  forever,  and  with 
it  all  a  feeling  of  familiarity,  as  if  in  some  other 
life  she  had  been  bathed  in  a  glory  akin  to  this. 
Under  the  massive  horse-chestnuts  that  bor 
dered  the  avenue  in  a  double  row,  holding  their 
rose  and  white  pyramids  to  be  kissed  by  the 
moonbeams,  it  was  dark ;  but  -when  they  had 
driven  through  the  archway  into  the  court,  a 
brilliancy  was  over  all.  The  main  tower  was 
covered  with  a  wistaria  vine,  and  the  delicate 
violet  of  the  blossoms,  hanging  in  masses,  was 
plainly  seen.  This  tower,  which  contained  the 
principal  staircase,  was  pierced  at  unequal  dis 
tances  by  narrow,  quaintly  leaded  windows, 
through  which  the  yellow  welcoming  lamp  light 
shone,  contrasting  strangely  with  the  frosty, 
gleaming  decoration  of  the  vine.  The  soft, 
warm  air  was  filled  with  the  perfume  of  honey 
suckle,  and  lilies  of  the  valley,  and  syringa. 
Against  the  tender,  indefinite  sky  the  great 
cedar  stood,  not  sharply  outlined,  but  melting 
into  its  background  at  its  edges,  and  massing 
its  dark  strength  in  the  centre.  It  seemed  to 
be  the  presiding  genius  of  the  stately  chateau, 
and  as  Sylvia  looked  she  remembered  Maurice's 


252         A    TRANSATLANTIC    CHATELAINE. 

voice  telling  her  of  his  boyish  dreams  beneath 
its  shade.  "  Will  his  words  always  haunt  me  ?  " 
she  asked  herself  impatiently,  turning  to  follow 
Philippe,  who  was  just  inside  the  door,  giving 
some  orders  to  his  servant.  But  as  she  moved, 
a  nightingale  in  the  thieket  below  burst  into 
song,  and  like  one  in  a  dream  she  went  to  the 
low,  ivy-covered  wall  running  along  this  side 
of  the  court,  and  leaning  over  it,  drank  in  the 
beauty  eagerly,  ecstatically. 

"  I  will  enjoy  .it,"  she  said  to  herself.  "  Ah, 
people  do  not  know  France  who  have  only  seen 
Paris  and  les  bains  de  mer  ;  he  was  right  when 
he  said  so." 

She  was  still  hearing  the  echoes  of  Maurice's 
voice,  and  this  time  she  let  them  pass  unchal 
lenged. 

A  little,  fleecy  cloud  blew  across  the  moon, 
and  the  shadows  lost  their  intensity  ;  the  night 
ingale  ended  his  song. 

"  Where  the  deuce  are  you  hiding,  Sylvia  ? 
My  mother  is  waiting  for  you,"  called  her  hus 
band  impatiently.  And  recognizing  the  fact 
that  he  wras  her  husband,  therefore  her  master, 
she  followed. 

Philippe  was  in  high  spirits  at  this  home-com 
ing.  For  the  first  time  he  felt  himself  master  of 
the  situation,  and  able  to  come  and  go  with 
out  the  dread  of  reproachful  questions  from  his 


A    TRANSATLANTIC    CHATELAINE.         253 

mother.  The  supper  that  was  prepared  for  them 
was  eaten  amidst  much  gay  laughter,  and  the 
talk  still  went  on  in  a  merry  strain  as  they 
seated  themselves  in  the  oak  salon. 

Philippe  genially  smoked  his  cigarette,  as  he 
stood  with  his  back  to  the  flameless  fireplace, 
his  feet  firmly  planted,  and  wide  apart,  one  well- 
shaped  hand  stroking  down  his  moustache.  A 
faint  color  had  come  into  his  mother's  face,  as 
she  listened  to  his  account  of  Sylvia's  triumphs 
among  people  whose  names  were  familiar  to  her, 
and  brought  memories  of  her  own  happy  youth. 
Sylvia  smiled  and  listened  ;  but  at  her  heart  she 
felt  a  quick  shock,  as  she  realized  how  her  opin 
ion  of  Philippe  had  changed  since  they  were 
last  together  in  this  room.  The  physical  attrac 
tion  was  gone  ;  God  grant  that  repulsion  shall 
not  take  its  place  !  She  felt  rebellious  towards 
him.  This  was  what  she  had  married  him  for  : 
to  be  his  countess,  to  be  the  chatelaine  of  his 
chateau  ;  to  take  her  place  in  his  family.  Well, 
all  this  was  just  what  she  had  planned,  and  yet 
she  was  not  content. 

Her  eyes  wandered  over  the  room.  All  the 
beauty  of  tapestry  and  carving  that  she  had  so 
admired  before  took  on  a  different  look,  now 
that  she  had  her  right  to  them.  She  thought 
with  a  passionate  wave  of  loyalty  of  the  white 
parlor  at  home.  It  was  so  humble  compared  to 


254         A    TRANSATLANTIC    CHATELAINE. 

this  lordly  dwelling,  and  yet  she  recognized  that 
in  the  small  room  there  were  treasures  that  the 
chateau  could  not  boast.  Those  simple,  white- 
paneled  walls  were  bounded  neither  by  space 
nor  time. .  The  books  that  covered  them,  and 
the  intellectual  stimulus  given  there,  made  its 
own  enduring  architecture. 

As  yet  Sylvia  had  seen  no  books  worth  men 
tioning  in  the  chateau.  There  was  a  magnifi 
cent  hall  called  the  library,  but  literature  played 
an  insignificant  part  in  its  furnishing.  She 
wondered  what  the  countess  did  with  herself  in 
her  many  leisure  hours.  Sylvia  was  beginning 
to  feel  dimly  the  rigidity  of  French  country  life  ; 
to  recognize  how  deep  the  line  of  tradition  is 
cut,  stretching  back  to  the  dim  past,  —  deep  but 
narrow,  and  going  always  on  its  beaten  track, 
straight  as  an  arrow,  swerving  neither  to  left 
nor  right. 

Her  thoughts  were  recalled  by  Philippe's  voice, 
more  animated  than  usual  as  he  told  his  mother 
his  plans  for  improving  the  property. 

"  We  should  have  that  mill  to  bring  water  to 
the  farms  more  easily ;  and  I  mean  to  get  it. 
Then  the  coverts  must  be  enlarged.  There 's 
nothing  now  worth  shooting." 

The  countess  listened,  her  face  all  aglow ;  it 
seemed  to  her  that  it  was  a  bewildering,  happy 
vision.  The  old  place,  that  she  had  struggled 


.4    TRANSATLANTIC    CHATELAINE.         255 

so  hard  to  keep  intact,  was  almost  sacred  to  her, 
and  now  her  past  efforts  were  being  rewarded; 
the  one  who  used  to  threaten  it  was  now  planning 
to  add  to  its  importance.  She  listened  eagerly, 
suggesting  ideas  of  her  own, — ideas  *that  had 
been  idle  day-dreams  with  her  in  the  past,  now 
by  the  stroke  of  a  fairy  wand  coming  true. 

Sylvia  felt  left  out  of  this  conversation ;  she 
did  not  know  the  names  of  the  farms  of  which 
they  spoke,  and  she  did  not  feel  impressed  by 
the  importance  of  having  good  shooting.  It 
suddenly  occurred  to  her  that  it  was  owing  to 
her  that  all  these  plans  could  be  made,  and  yet 
that  she  was  neither  consulted  nor  noticed. 

Some  subtle  thought-transference  must  have 
suggested  to  the  countess  the  trend  of  the 
younger  woman's  sensations,  for  she  put  her 
hand  out  with  a  kind  gesture  and  said  :  — 

"  All  this  must  seem  very  dry  and  stupid  to 
you,  my  dear ;  but  you  need  not  trouble  yourself 
about  details.  1  know  that  the  old  place  is  a 
sombre  home  for  you,  but  you  must  remember 
that  it  is  your  home,  to  come  to  when  you  want 
quiet.  There  will  always  be  a  welcome  here  for 
you." 

Sylvia  restrained  the  little  start  of  surprise ; 
she  to  be  made  welcome  to  La  Roche  !  She  had 
understood  that  it  was  hers  !  She  had  planned 
to  make  her  mother-in-law  feel  that  she  must 


256         A    TRANSATLANTIC    CHATELAINE. 

stay  there,  keeping  her  old  place,  as  long  as  she 
lived ;  she  had  intended  to  usurp  no  authority, 
to  give  way  in  everything  ;  and  here  were  the 
tables  turned  with  a  vengeance. 

She  made  a  formal  little  bow  to  the  countess, 
and  murmured  some  words  about  her  kindness. 
Philippe  was  watching  his  wife  anxiously ;  he 
had  not  set  her  right  when  she  had  spoken  casu 
ally  to  him  of  what  they  should  do  when  she  was 
mistress  of  the  chateati  ;  he  had  not  felt  called 
upon  to  explain  his  father's  will  to  her.  His 
wish  was  that  the  two  women  should  live  pleas 
antly  together,  and  he  did  not  want  any  mis 
understanding  between  them  this  first  evening. 
He  broke  in. 

"  You  are  like  a  couple  of  snow-capped  moun 
tains  making  pretty  speeches  to  one  another. 
Sylvia,  the  madame  goes  from  this  minute ;  do 
you  understand  ?  You  are  mother  and  daughter, 
eh?  Is  n't  it  better  so  ?" 

He  laughed  as  he  spoke,  and  pulling  a  lily  of 
the  valley  from  a  bowl  on  the  table  he  tossed  it 
at  his  wife.  lie  meant  to  be  pleasant,  and  was 
doing  his  best  to  end  rather  an  awkward  situa 
tion,  but  Sylvia  was  not  in  the  mood  for  pleas 
antries  ;  the  flower  hit  her  on  the  neck  with  its 
wet  stem,  and  she  felt  an  angry  flush  mount  to 
her  cheeks  ;  she  knew  it  was  childish  to  take  it 
seriously,  and  said :  — 


A  TRANSATLANTIC  CHATELAINE.    257 

"  A  good  beginning,  —  buried  in  flowers." 

She  tried  to  speak  naturally,  but  her  laugh 
was  forced,  and  her  voice  trembled. 

A  sudden  unreasonable  antipathy  towards  her 
husband  overwhelmed  her ;  just  as  the  love  be 
tween  man  and  woman  is  more  intense,  more 
savagely  natural  than  any  other  affection,  so  is 
the  hatred  between  them,  and  as  Sylvia  glanced 
up  she  met  her  husband's  cold  scrutiny ;  their 
eyes  flashed  hatred  for  a  second,  then  he  turned 
away  and  rolled  a  cigarette.  Almost  any  strong 
emotion  is  contagious,  and  just  then  he  detested 
the  graceful,  lovely  woman  before  him. 

Sometimes  it  is  enough  to  make  one  blush  and 
cringe  for  shame  to  think  how  we  are  padded  and 
enveloped  by  education,  civilization,  Christianity, 
and  yet  how  the  old  Adam  still  lives  in  us,  al 
ways  ready  to  awake  and  drive  us  to  the  extremes 
of  brutality.  The  spirit  of  their  own  unsub 
dued,  untamed  souls  flashed,  and  shocked  against 
each  other  in  that  look,  and  both  the  husband 
and  the  wife  quailed  at  the  lifting  of  the  veil. 
Sylvia's  disappointment  was  none  the  less  keen 
that  there  was  no  one  to  blame  for  it,  and  no 
one  to  whom  she  could  mention  it ;  she  was  sure 
that  Philippe  had  given  her  the  impression  that 
she  was  to  be  the  future  mistress  of  La  Roche, 
and  yet  she  could  remember  no  definite  promise. 

There  are  always  compensations,  however,  in 


258          A    TRANS ATL ANT 1C    CHATELAINE. 

every  trial,  and  the  love  and  friendship  shown 
by  Madame  de  La  Roche  to  her  daughter-in-law 
proved  a  bright  spot. 

During  the  days  following  Sylvia's  arrival, 
she  showed  herself  in  her  truest,  sweetest  light. 
All  through  the  dark  winter  she  had  prayed  fer 
vently  to  forget  herself,  to  bury  her  doubts  and 
fears,  and  to  open  her  heart  to  her  son's  wife. 

The  prayers  were  answered,  and  she  found 
it  almost  easy  to  admit  this  young  woman  with 
the  smiling  mouth  and  wistful  eyes  to  her  confi 
dence. 

They  were  walking  in  the  garden  with  its 
exuberance  of  bloom  one  morning,  when  she 
said  :  — 

"  I  want  to  drive  you  over  to  La  Source  this 
afternoon  if  you  have  nothing  better  to  do.  It 
is  Monsieur  Regnier's  place,  and  you  will  love 
him  when  you  know  him,  as  I  do  ;  and  I  hope 
that  you  will  find  him  as  good  and  true  a  friend 
as  I  have." 

"  Who  is  Monsieur  Regnier  ?  "  asked  Sylvia 
abruptly.  She  longed  yet  dreaded  to  hear  the 
version  that  Madame  de  La  Roche  would  give 
of  Maurice's  reputed  father. 

"  Has  not  Philippe  told  you  ?  Ah,  it  is  a  sad 
story,  but  it  is  a  thing  of  the  past.  Let  us  sit 
under  the  cedar,  and  I  will  tell  you." 

So  leaning  back  in  a  low  chair,  looking  up 


A    TRANSATLANTIC   CHATELAINE.         259 

through  the  gray-green  branches  of  the  old  tree, 
and  hearing  them  murmur  faint  tales  of  the 
ocean,  Sylvia  listened,  every  word  sinking  in 
and  scoring  deep  the  man  she  had  married. 

"  My  father-in-law,"  began  the  countess,  "was 
only  nineteen  at  the  beginning  of  the  revolu 
tion  ;  he  was  a  headstrong  boy,  and  had  insisted 
on  becoming  engaged  to  a  young  girl  of  great 
beauty,  the  daughter  of  a  gentleman  who  owned 
La  Source.  Her  father  was  wealthy,  but  his 
family  was  of  no  consequence,  and  at  first  the 
match  was  bitterly  opposed,  but  the  young  count 
was  very  fascinating,  and  won  over  his  mother 
to  his  side  ;  she  could  do  anything  with  her  hus 
band,  and  just  before  the  outbreak  consent  was 
given.  Both  families  were  intensely  loyal,  and 
their  names  were  well  known  in  Paris,  so  it  was 
no  great  surprise  when  La  Source  was  attacked 
by  some  of  the  fiends  possessing  power,  and 
Amelie  (that  was  the  girl's  name)  alone  escaped 
imprisonment  by  her  mother's  ingenuity  and 
devotion.  She  came  at  once  to  La  Roche,  and 
the  countess  received  her  kindly,  soothing  her 
fears  about  her  parents,  and  promising  that  she 
should  be  married  as  soon  as  possible.  But  in 
those  days  a  marriage  \vas  not  easily  managed, 
as  the  priests  were  in  such  terror  that  they 
hid,  and  were  hard  to  find  for  anything  but  to 
administer  extreme  unction.  While  they  were 


260         A    TRANSATLANTIC    CHATELAINE. 

waiting  and  hoping  the  young  people  forgot  all 
the  terrors  of  the  time  in  the  joy  of  being  to 
gether  in  unrestrained  liberty,  for  the  countess 
felt  that  it  was  not  an  occasion  to  insist  on  eti 
quette,  and  they  were  allowed  to  wander  at  will 
in  the  park  and  gardens.  One  day  they  were 
together  by  the  hill,  at  the  other  side  of  the 
meadow  there  —  you  see  where  I  mean  —  it  is 
tunneled  with  caves." 

Sylvia  looked,  and  nodded. 

"  They  were  just  outside  one  of  them  when  a 
peasant  thrust  them  violently  in,  his  face  white 
with  fear,  and  pointing  to  a  heap  of  brushwood, 
said,  '  Hide  —  they  are  in  the  chateau  —  but  I 
will  save  you — stay  here  until  I  come  again.' 
The  wretches  who  had  been  sent  down  to  arrest 
the  family  failed  through  clumsiness,  for  the 
count  and  countess  had  just  time  to  escape, 
almost  wild  with  grief  at  leaving  their  son  be 
hind,  but  there  was  no  help  for  it.  Their  pur 
suers,  however,  liked  the  comforts  of  the  chateau, 
and  stayed  here  nearly  a  week,  defacing  many 
of  the  portraits  and  carvings.  When  they  left 
they  lighted  a  fire  round  the  east  wing,  but  the 
lurking  peasants  put  it  out.  All  this  time  my 
father-in-law  and  Amelie  had  been  in  the  cave, 
fed  by  the  devoted  man  who  had  warned  them, 
and  it  would  take  a  harder  heart  than  mine  to 
blame  the  poor  children  for  after  events,  although 


A    TRANSATLANTIC    CHATELAINE.         261 

they  brought  much  suffering  to  them  and  others. 
When  it  was  considered  safe  they  went  back 
to  the  chateau,  but  some  one  betrayed  them, 
and  in  less  than  two  months  they  were  arrested 
and  separated.  The  young  count  was  taken  to 
Paris  and  thrown  into  the  Bastile,  whence  he 
was  liberated  by  some  unexpected  turn.  His 
iirst  thought  was  to  find  Anielie ;  he  dared  not 
search  openly,  but  all  he  could  do  was  useless. 
The  poor  boy  was  nearly  wild  with  grief  and 
anxiety,  for  he  knew  that  she  had  more  than 
herself  to  save,  and  the  thought  of  their  child 
being  born,  and  dying,  perhaps,  in  a  jail,  mad 
dened  him.  There  was  no  stone  left  unturned 
by  him,  and  his  reason  was  despaired  of,  so  terri 
ble  was  his  suffering.  But  time  brings  healing, 
and  after  nearly  ten  years  of  waiting  he  con 
sented  to  marry  a  distant  cousin,  who  was  in 
every  way  a  suitable  wife.  My  husband,  the 
oldest  child,  was  five,  when  a  tradesman  ap 
peared,  bringing  with  him  letters  and  undoubted 
proofs  that  the  missing  child  was  under  his 
roof." 

u  And  the  child  was  "  -  interrupted  Sylvia. 
lk  Who  ?  — -  what  is  he  called  now  ?  " 

"  He  is  my  dear  friend  Monsieur  Regnier," 
answered  the  countess. 

"  And  his  son  —  Maurice  ?  " 

"  Oh,    Maurice's    mother   was    a   pretty,  but 


262          A    TRANSATLANTIC    CHATELAINE. 

rather  insignificant  little  woman,  who  died  soon 
after  his  birth.  She  was  never  the  equal  of  her 
husband." 

"  Her  husband  ?" 

"  Why,  yes,"  answered  Madame  de  La  Roche, 
rather  impatiently  ;  "don't  you  understand  ?" 

"  Yes,  yes,  go  on." 

"  There  is  no  more  to  tell.  Poor  little  Amelie 
had  been  confined  after  a  long  imprisonment  in 
a  country  jail,  and,  weakened  by  hardships  and 
suffering,  died.  She  had  become  friendly  with 
her  jailer's  wife,  and  confided  to  her  care  letters 
explaining  her  child's  position.  The  woman,  a 
kindly  soul,  apparently,  would  have  brought  the 
baby  directly  to  La  Roche,  but  her  husband  was 
suspected  of  helping  aristocrats,  and  their  only 
safety  was  to  sail  directly  for  America,  taking 
the  baby  with  them.  When  he  was  brought 
back  he  was  a  big  boy  of  fifteen.  My  poor 
father-in-law  could  not  make  him  legitimate  on 
account  of  his  son,  but  he  brought  him  up  in 
the  chateau,  and  there  was  no  one  in  the  world 
my  husband  loved  better  than  his  half-brother. 
He  left  him  as  much  money  as  he  could,  and  dur 
ing  his  lifetime  made  him  nominally  his  agent, 
really  his  other  self.  They  lived  always  in  the 
old  wing  until  my  husband  died,  and  then  Mon 
sieur  Regnier  bought  La  Source,  formerly  his 
mother's  home." 


A    TRANSATLANTIC    CHATELAINE.         263 

"  Is  he  made  bitter  by  his  life  ?  "  asked  Sylvia. 

"  Ah,  no,  his  nature  is  too  sweet ;  he  has  been 
saddened  by  it,  nothing  more.  His  only  betrayal 
of  how  he  has  felt  it  was  shown  by  his  command 
that  his  children  should  never  know  his  story." 

"  So  Maurice  knows  nothing  ?  " 

"  Absolutely  nothing.  Have  you  ever  met 
Maurice,  Sylvia  ?  " 

"  Yes,  I  knew  him  very  well  once  ;  but  it  was 
a  lifetime  ago." 

She  sat  still  for  a  moment  not  quite  realizing 
what  she  felt,  then  seeing  that  the  countess  was 
waiting  for  some  comment  on  her  story,  she  said  : 
"It  was  sad ;  I  feel  as  though  La  Roche  must 
be  haunted,  so  many  things  have  happened  here." 

"  I  hope  it  will  only  be  haunted  by  good  and 
true  spirits,  dear,  as  long  as  you  live  here." 

As  she  spoke  she  rested  her  hand  lingeringly 
on  Sylvia's  shoulder,  and  then  walked  away  to 
wards  the  broad,  moss-covered  stone  steps  lead 
ing  up  to  the  court. 

Alone,  Sylvia  covered  her  eyes  with  her  hand. 
She  was  frightened  by  the  tumult  of  her  feelings. 
Was  it  anger,  or  grief,  or  an  exultant  joy  she  felt? 
It  was  joy  ;  she  still  had  the  right  to  believe  in 
the  man  she  had  wholly  trusted,  almost  loved  ; 
life  could  not  be  the  treadmill  she  had  lately 
fancied  it  if  Maurice  were  still  true  ;  the  world 
was  not  all  bad  while  there  were  men  —  while 


264         A    TRANSATLANTIC    CHATELAINE. 

there  was  one  man  —  who  dared  to  be  noble  and 
chivalrous,  and  who  believed  in  great  deeds  still 
to  be  done.  She  threw  a  thought  of  scorn  and 
anger  to  Philippe,  and  she  shrank  coweringly 
before  the  memory  of  the  wrongs  and  insults  she 
had  heaped  upon  Maurice ;  then  she  gave  her 
self  up  to  happy,  improbable  dreams.  She  was 
to  be  free  once  more,  and  she  would  make  him 
forget  the  past  in  the  joy  and  rapture  of  her 
love. 

The  midday  hush  fell  upon  the  garden ;  the 
birds  were  silent,  and  even  the  bees  seemed  ab 
sent  ;  still  leaning  back  and  looking  up  to  the 
brilliant  sky,  Sylvia  thought  of  Maurice  as  he 
had  told  her  of  his  boyhood,  seeing  visions  of 
loyalty  and  bravery  and  love  under  the  shade  of 
this  cedar. 


CHAPTER  XIII. 

"  OH,  how  charming  —  how  English  !  "  ex 
claimed  Sylvia,  as  they  drove  through  the  billowy 
park  of  La  Source,  which  was  cut  in  two  by  a 
merry  brawling  baby  river,  or  grown-up  brook, 
and  the  house  came  in  sight ;  it  was  square  and 
low,  only  one  broad  step  leading  to  the  hospit 
ably  opened  door,  and  a  wealth  of  ivy  hid  the 
material  of  which  it  was  built.  The  windows 
cut  in  this  wall  of  living  green  were  daintily  cur 
tained,  and  there  were  many  gayly  striped  awn 
ings  giving  touches  of  color. 

Under  a  tree  near  the  house  was  a  table,  and 
by  it  sat  a  gentleman  holding  a  child  on  his  knee, 
and  showing  him  pictures.  When  he  heard  the 
carriage  he  put  the  boy  on  his  fat,  sturdy  bare 
legs,  planted  well  apart,  and  came  towards  his 
giiests,  both  hands  held  out  in  welcome.  Madame 
de  La  Roche  was  nearest  him,  and  as  he  lifted 
her  hand  to  his  lips  she  said:  — 

"  This  is  my  daughter,  Armand  ;  you  must 
promise  to  be  to  her  what  you  always  have  been 
to  all  of  us,  a  true  friend." 

Sylvia  put  her  hand  into  his,  and  at  once  felt 


266         A    TRANSATLANTIC    CHATELAINE. 

that  mysterious  bond  of  sympathy,  rare  but  un 
mistakable  to  any  one  who  has  ever  experienced 
it.  Monsieur  Regnier  was  very  tall,  as  tall  as  his 
son,  but  so  well  proportioned  that  it  was  only 
noticeable  when  he  stood  by  some  other  man. 
His  skin  was  colored  a  deep  rich  hue  by  ex 
posure  to  sun  and  wind ;  his  finely  cut  features 
and  dignified  bearing  gave  him  a  reputation  for 
being  a  handsome  man,  but  his  brown,  deep- 
set  eyes  were  his  greatest  charm.  Although  at 
times  they  were  lighted  into  twinkling  brilliancy 
by  some  jest,  or  softened  to  a  happy  glow  as  they 
rested  on  his  grandchildren,  they  had  generally 
a  mystical,  far-away  expression  that  suggested  a 
victory  won,  a  struggle  past  and  over.  He  said 
nothing  in  answer  to  the  countess's  words,  but 
he  smiled  as  Sylvia  looked  into  his  face,  and  the 
smile  told  more  than  words. 

Out  of  the  open  door  rustled  a  young  woman, 
who  greeted  Madame  de  La  Roche  with  over 
done  enthusiasm,  and  was  then  introduced  as 
monsieur's  daughter,  Madame  Lefevre.  The 
solid  little  boy  was  called  to  take  his  share  in  the 
general  presentations,  and  obeyed  unwillingly 
enough,  kicking  the  gravel  as  he  drew  near  the 
group. 

"  Don't  scuff,  Maurice,"  said  his  mother,  jerk 
ing  him  to  her.  "  Do  you  think  he  looks  like 
me  ?  "  she  asked,  turning  her  head  artlessly,  as  a 
bird  does. 


A    TRANSATLANTIC    CHATELAINE.          267 

Sylvia  took  his  broad  dimpled  hand  in  hers, 
and  said  :  "  Maurice,  perhaps  your  mamma  will 
bring  you  to  see  me  some  day,  and  when  we  are 
great  friends  I  can  tell  better  whom  you  look 
like." 

"  Thank  madame,  Maurice,  and  tell  her  you 
would  love  to  come." 

He  worked  his  small,  stubby  shoe  into  the 
walk  for  a  moment ;  then  in  a  low,  awed  tone 
he  said  :  — 

"  Have  you  got  a  donkey  at  your  place  ?  " 

"  Yes." 

"  Then  I  '11  come,  for  I  think  you  look  all 
right,  not  as  if  you  were  really  a  savage  like  " 

"  Maurice,"  said  his  mother  desperately,  "  run 
in  and  ring  the  bell  as  you  go.  We  are  going 
to  have  something  to  eat  out  here,"  she  went  on 
hurriedly,  to  Sylvia's  great  amusement. 

"  My  father  is  never  happy  under  a  roof  when 
the  sun  shines,  so  we  —  Oh,  there  is  the  butler. 
Here,  Jacques,  on  this  table,"  she  rattled  on, 
bustling  about  to  move  a  chair  here,  or  a  foot 
stool  there,  for  her  guests. 

"  Where  is  Maurice  ?  "  asked  Monsieur  Reg- 
nier,  as  his  daughter  began  to  hand  round  a 
galette.  Sylvia's  heart  beat  violently,  and  she 
unconsciously  kept  her  hostess  waiting,  so  in 
tently  did  she  listen. 

"  Oh,  I  sent  him  into  the  house,  papa.     You 


268          A    TRANSATLANTIC    CHATELAINE. 

know  I  never  allow  him  to  eat  sweets  at  this 
hour." 

Sylvia  took  the  proffered  dainty.  It  was  only 
the  little  boy  they  meant. 

Madame  Lefevre  drew  a  basket-chair  close 
beside  her,  and  began  to  talk  volubly. 

"  You  know  I  am  here  all  alone  the  greater 
part  of  the  year  with  papa,  for  my  husband  is 
with  his  regiment  in  Algiers,  and  my  brother  is 
with  his  at  Fontainebleau,  so  we  see  very  little 
of  them." 

"  Is  little  Maurice  your  only  child  ?  " 

"  Oh,  dear  me,  no."  Here  the  little  woman 
leaned  back  in  her  chair  and  laughed  heartily  at 
such  a  show  of  ignorance.  "  I  have  three  boys 
at  Notre  Dame  in  Blois,  and  two  girls  at  the 
convent  in  Tours." 

"  How  can  you  send  them  away  from  you  ?  " 
asked  Sylvia,  thinking  how  she  would  treasure 
and  watch  over  a  life  confided  to  her  care. 
Madame  Lefevre  assumed  an  expression  of  ob 
stinacy  such  as  only  a  weak,  insignificant  per 
son  is  capable  of,  and  said,  — 

"  I  feel  it  my  duty  to  bring  them  up  undor 
the  influence  of  the  Holy  Church.  Louis,  my 
husband,  and  papa  would  like  them  always 
here  ;  but  I  say,  *  Louis,  my  father  is  doubtless 
a  good  man,  and  you  do  well  to  speak  highly  of 
his  influence,  but  can  any  man  or  woman  of  the 


A    TRANSATLANTIC    CHATELAINE.         269 

world  pretend  to  come  anywhere  near  those  who 
are  dedicated  to  lives  of  sanctity  ?  '  Of  course 
there  is  nothing  to  answer  to  that,"  she  ended 
complacently. 

"  It  must  be  a  great  trial  to  you,"  observed 
Sylvia. 

"  Oh,  it  is  ;  but  I  have  help  to  bear  it.  My 
second  little  girl  is  dedicated  to  the  Virgin: 
when  she  was  three  months  old  she  was  very 
ill,  so  I  made  a  vow  that  she  should  be  a  child 
of  Mary  if  she  recovered.  She  got  better  from 
that  day,  and  now  she  only  wears  white  and 
blue,  and  I  feel  that  it  is  a  mark  of  heavenly 
favor  that  she  has  a  high  color  like  me,  so  blue 
is  becoming  to  her,  for  my  oldest  child  is  sallow, 
and  would  have  looked  a  fright." 

Sylvia  did  not  know  whether  she  ought  to 
laugh  at  this  remark ;  but  as  Madame  Lefevre's 
face  was  serious,  she  only  said  very  gravely, 
"  How  extremely  fortunate." 

Madame  de  La  Roche  smiled  across  the  table 
from  her  seat,  where  she  had  been  talking  with 
unwonted  animation  to  her  friend.  "  Monsieur 
Regnier  wants  to  show  you  the  place,  Sylvia, 
and  I  am  sure  Berthe  and  I  can  amuse  our 
selves  very  well  while  you  two  are  away." 

Sylvia  rose,  glad  to  think  that  she  was  at  last 
to  know  Maurice's  father.  His  sister  was  so  un 
like  him  in  every  way  that  she  could  not  re- 


270         A    TRANSATLANTIC    CHATELAINE. 

member  the  relationship,  but  the  likeness  was 
strong  to  his  son  in  the  handsome,  courtly  old 
man. 

They  sauntered  together  over  the  dry,  smooth 
shaven  lawn,  towards  the  stables  and  farm  yards, 
and  as  they  went  they  fell  into  talk  strangely  in 
timate  for  such  new  acquaintance. 

"  My  books  are  my  chief  interest  now,"  Mon 
sieur  Regnier  said  to  her,  when  she  asked  him 
how  he  occupied  himself.  "  My  boy  Maurice, 
who  will  soon  be  going  to  Algiers,  with  his  regi 
ment,  filled  every  crevice  in  my  life  until  his 
profession  took  him  from  me.  Now  I  seldom 
see  him,"  he  ended  with  a  sigh. 

She  looked  at  him  sympathetically.  "  I  should 
so  like  you  to  show  me  your  books,"  she  said 
gently.  "  All  my  young  days  they  were  my 
companions,  and  it  would  be  delightful  to  find 
we  had  some  mutual  friends." 

Pie  smiled  at  her  with  the  peculiar  soul-touch 
ing  expression  some  rare  individuals  possess. 
Whether  it  is  caused  by  past  sorrows,  or  innate 
humaneness,  one  cannot  tell ;  but  one  may  see  it, 
and  never  in  the  face  of  him  who  has  not  battled 
nobly  with  life,  and  come  out  the  braver  and 
kinder  from  the  struggle. 

"  It  is  possible  we  may  have  many,"  he  an 
swered  ;  "  although  I  have  lost  the  pronunciation, 
I  still  read  English  as  easily  as  I  do  French  ; 


A    TRANSATLANTIC    CHATELAINE.         271 

and  I  love  the  literature  although  not  the  people 
of  that  self-sufficient  little  island." 

He  had  led  her  back  to  the  house  while  speak 
ing,  and  she  found  herself  in  a  long,  rather 
low-studded  room,  fairly  lined  with  books.  It 
took  her  at  a  bound  back  to  the  white  parlor ; 
she  was  at  home  again. 

Delightedly  she  gazed  at  the  titles. 

"  Ah,  I  know  that  edition  of  Thackeray  — 
ours  is  like  it.  And  here  is  dear,  funny  old 
Pepys  ;  how  lovely  the  binding  is !  Why,  you 
have  everything,  down  to  Browning." 

"  Ah,  but  he  is  too  hard  for  me.  I  like  a  word 
here,  and  a  word  there,  but  I  am  too  dull  to  quite 
get  at  him." 

"  Many  feel  as  you  do,"  answered  Sylvia,  and 
as  she  spoke  she  reached  for  the  volume  of 
"Paracelsus,"  and  opened  it.  A  touch  of  ro- 
guishness,  not  often  seen  there,  came  into  her 
face,  as  she  found  the  line  she  wanted. 

"  I  think  you  must  be  a  magician,  Monsieur," 
she  said  half  shyly,  "  for  I  never  paid  a  compli 
ment  in  my  life  before  that  I  can  remember. 
But  this  is  the  way  you  look  to  me,"  and  she 
handed  him  the  book.  Pie  read  the  words,  — 
"  That  look !  as  if  where'er  you  gazed  there 
stood  a  star,"  —  and  a  pleased  light  came  into 
his  eyes. 

"  Keep  your  compliments  for  old  fellows  like 


272         A    TRANSATLANTIC    CHATELAINE. 

me  and  they  '11  do  no  harm,  "  he  said  "  but  — 
you  will  pardon  me  for  giving  yon  a  little  ad 
vice."  He  paused,  until  she  had  assented. 

"You  are  young,  and  a  foreigner,"  he  went 
on.  "  It  is  unreasonable  to  expect  you  to  even 
guess  at  many  complications  in  our  life,  that  come 
to  us  as  natural  things,  but  which  will  strike 
you,  when  you  find  them  out,  as  strange.  You 
may  be  frightened  when  you  get  below  the  sur 
face,  for  we  are  radically  unlike  you  Americans  ; 
there  is  something  simple,  wholesome,  and  truth 
ful  about  you  that  we  miss,  —  qualities  that  many 
of  us  do  not  even  suspect.  I  am  always  deeply 
interested  in  all  that  concerns  my  dear  friend 
the  countess ;  and  since  I  have  seen  you  I  am 
interested  in  you  personally.  Now  let  me  ask 
you  a  favor :  if  you  are  worried  and  troubled  by 
any  incidents  in  your  new  life,  come  to  me,  and 
tell  me  frankly  of  them.  Will  you  promise  ?  " 

Sylvia  thought  of  the  trouble  at  her  heart  that 
very  moment,  —  of  the  deceit  that  had  doubly 
cheated  her  ;  of  her  inability  to  ever  breathe  one 
word  that  would  throw  such  blame  on  her  hus 
band. 

"  I  do  not  think  I  can  promise,"  she  said  re 
gretfully.  "  I  should  like  to,  —  the  idea  tempts 
me,  —  for  I  could  trust  you.  But  I  am  afraid 
I  must  bear  in  silence." 

She  grew  white  to  her  lips  as  she  spoke,  and 


A    TRANSATLANTIC    CHATELAINE.         273 

he  looked  at  her.  Had  it  come  so  soon  ?  he 
asked  himself,  and  then,  tenderly,  tactfully  he 
led  her  thoughts  from  her  own  life  to  those  of 
others.  He  spoke  of  what  his  books  taught  him, 
and  his  words  grew  eloquent.  She  listened,  ex 
hilarated  to  be  in  touch  with  some  one  really 
sympathetic  again. 

"  Sometimes,"  she  said,  half  in  jest  and  half 
in  earnest,  "  I  long  to  die  so  as  to  see  the  authors 
who  have  meant  so  much  to  me,  and  thank  them." 

Monsieur  Regnier  threw  back  his  head  with  a 
gesture  which  recalled  Maurice. 

"  And  do  you  ever  think,"  he  asked,  "  of  the 
terrible  responsibility  those  men  have  assumed  ? 
If  we  could  meet  our  ancestors  in  the  flesh  you 
can  easily  imagine  how  one  would  say,  '  He  has 
my  eyes,'  and  another,  '  He  takes  his  coloring 
from  me,'  and  these  intellectual  progenitors 
would  see  the  effect  their  written  words  have 
had  on  the  minds  and  souls  they  have  helped  to 
form..  Think  of  the  enormous  influence  Goethe 
and  Byron  have  had  in  this  century.  It  is  over 
whelming." 

"  Everything  is  overwhelming,"  replied  Syl 
via.  "  Until  lately  I  never  knew  that  I  had  a 
New  England  conscience.  Now  that  I  do  realize 
it  everything  I  do  frightens  me,  for  no  act  seems 
final,  the  results  go  on  and  on ;  it  is  terrible." 

He  smiled   serenely.      ''  You   are  young,"  he 


274          .4    TRANSATLANTIC    CHATELAINE. 

said  ;  "  all  those  feelings  right  themselves  with 
aire."  Then  he  told  her  how  he  had  found  his 

O 

powers  of  happiness  increase  with  his  years. 
"  Never  be  afraid  of  old  age,"  he  said  impres 
sively.  "  One  of  the  few  things  I  do  care  for  in 
Browning  are  these  words." 

He  opened  a  book  on  his  table,  and  she  saw 
that  it  was  filled  with  writing. 

"  I  copy  everything  here  I  particularly  care 
for,"  he  explained,  running  over  the  leaves. 
'"  Here  it  is  ;  read  those  words  to  me  in  Eng 
lish,"  he  concluded,  handing  her  the  book. 

Her  voice  trembled  a  little  as  she  began  ;  she 
knew  the  lines  well.  They  had  been  favorites  of 
her  father,  but  had  never  appealed  to  her  until 
to-day.  Now,  the  unbidden,  vain,  wrong  thought 
came  to  her,  "  What  if  it  were  Maurice  listening 
to  me  ?  Oh,  if  it  were  not  too  late,  too  late." 
Monsieur  Kegnier  watched  her  as  he  heard  the 
words,  familiar  in  sense,  strange  with  the  new 
accent. 

"  Grow  old  along1  with  me, 

The  best  is  yet  to  be, 
The  hist  of  life,  for  which  the  first  was  made. 

Our  times  are  in  His  hand, 

Who  saitli,  '  A  whole  I  planned  ; 
Youth  shows  but  half  ;   trust  God  ;   see  all ;   nor  be  afraid.'  " 

''  There  is  a  great  lesson  there,"  he  said  when 
she  had  ended.  "  It  has  taken  me  nearly  seventy 


A    TRANSATLANTIC    CHATELAINE.          275 

years  to  learn  it.  Please  Heaven  it  will  come 
to  you  sooner.  The  last  is  the  best :  we  are 
nearer  Him.  All  the  small  worries  that  seem 
too  hard  to  be  borne  when  the  blood  runs  fast 
and  the  heart  beats  quick,  grow  insignificant. 
Old  people  learn  true  sympathy  —  or,  at  least, 
they  should  learn  it.  Don't  dread  old  age, 
Madame.  It  will  pay  you  double  for  all  your 
losses  if  you  accept  your  experiences  as  lessons, 
and  do  not  try  to  get  rid  of  them  by  considering 
yourself  peculiarly  ill  used  when  things  go  wrong. 
But  here  am  I,"  he  broke  off  with  a  laugh, 
"  boasting  of  my  slowly  earned  sympathy,  and 
keeping  you  here  chained  by  my  prosing." 

Sylvia  looked  at  him  gravely.  "  You  have 
helped  me.  Will  you  come  and  see  me,  and  talk 
to  me  some  more?"  she  asked. 

He  shook  his  head  a  little  sadly.  "  I  am 
always  here,  and  often  alone.  The  chateau  has 
too  many  memories  for  me  to  be  able  to  go  there 
readily.  Come  to  me,  my  dear,  and  you  will 
always  find  a  welcome." 

As  she  moved  towards  the  door  he  stopped 
her.  "  One  more  treasure  to  show  you,"  he  said, 
and  then  led  her  to  his  writing  table.  There, 
in  a  velvet  case,  lay  a  miniature  of  Maurice. 

"  It  is  my  boy,"  he  told  her  as  he  put  it  in 
her  hand,  an  expression  of  pride  mingled  with 
a  wistful  appeal  for  her  admiration  in  his  eyes. 


276          A    TRANSATLANTIC    CHATELAINE. 

Sylvia  took  it,  and  looked  into  the  ardent  young 
face.  The  artist  had  caught  the  Greek  touch  of 
beauty,  as  well  as  the  true  likeness  of  character  : 
there  were  the  eyes,  full  of  enthusiasm  and 
truth  —  she  had  doubted  them  ;  there  was  the 
generous  curve  of  the  lips  —  she  had  believed 
they  lied  basely  ;  and  there  on  the  cheek  had  a 
blow  fallen  from  her  hand.  She  dared  not  re 
member.  She  must  speak  and  drown  memory. 

"  I  have  met  your  son.  He  is  handsomer  even 
than  his  portrait,  and  as  delightful  as  he  is 
handsome,"  she  said,  still  holding  the  miniature, 
although  she  no  longer  looked  at  it. 

Her  words  were  complimentaiy  ;  but  they 
carried  no  conviction,  and  the  father  was  dimly 
disappointed.  They  joined  the  others  on  the 
lawn,  and  Sylvia  found  her  mother-in-law  more 
than  ready  to  start  for  home.  An  hour's  talk 
with  Berthe  Lefevre  was  generally  enough  to 
make  most  mortals  long  for  any  change  from 
her  trivialities,  and  the  countess  was  no  excep 
tion.  The  little  woman  talked  and  fussed  until 
they  were  in  the  carriage,  and  even  after  the 
horses  had  started,  she  ran  over  the  lawn  to 
intercept  them,  and  called  out,  "  I  shall  surely 
remember  the  reposoir,  and  will  pray  for  good 
weather  !  " 

Madame  de  La  Roche  smiled  and  waved  her 
hand,  then  settled  back  with  a  sigh.  "  This  is 


A    TRANSATLANTIC    CHATELAINE.          277 

the  eighth  time  she  has  told  me  that,"  she  said. 
"  She  is  a  good  little  creature,  but  not  at  all 
like  her  father.  Maurice  is  more  like  him. 
Berthe  was  in  a  convent  until  she  married, 
while  her  brother  was  brought  up  with  Philippe. 
I  suppose  it  is  partly  the  home  training  which 
makes  him  so  much  her  superior  —  and  yet  I 
don't  know,"  she  added,  her  voice  falling  drear 
ily.  Perhaps  she  thought  of  her  own  son,  and 
the  result  of  his  education. 

"  What  did  she  mean  by  reposoir  ?  "  asked 
Sylvia. 

"  Oh,  don't  you  know  ?  It  is  the  feast  of 
Corpus  Christi,  and  before  many  houses  altars 
are  erected  in  the  open  air.  The  cure  marches 
through  the  village  at  the  head  of  a  little  pro 
cession,  and  holds  a  service  at  each  altar.  It  is 
very  pretty,  and  we  always  have  one  in  the  court 
of  honor." 

Sylvia  promised  to  lend  her  aid  in  arranging 
the  next  reposoir,  and  was  thankful  to  have 
some  subject  for  conversation  on  their  drive 
home.  Once  there,  she  found  that  it  was  time 
to  dress  for  dinner,  and  not  until  the  family 
had  parted  for  the  night  was  she  free  to  think 
over  the  events  of  the  day.  Justine  dismissed, 
she  lay  down  on  her  sofa  drawn  before  the  fire, 
—  for  the  nights  were  chilly,  —  and  then  her 
mind  ran  riot.  Under  all,  over  all,  through  all, 


278          A    TRANSATLANTIC    CHATELAINE. 

rang  the  triumphant  refrain,  "  Maurice  was 
true,  God  is  good."  In  some  way  she  joined 
the  two  thoughts.  Then  came  the  blasting 
knowledge  that  the  man  who  was  true  must  be 
nothing  to  her,  and  the  man  who  was  false  was 

O 

her  husband.  At  this  idea  she  clenched  her 
hands  and  moaned ;  then  she  walked  up  and 
down  restlessly.  At  last  she  went  to  her  win 
dow,  and  opening  it,  leant  out.  Philippe's  room 
was  next  to  hers,  and  she  could  see  the  light 
in  it  shining  across  the  vivid  green  of  the  young 
leaves.  For  a  moment  she  thought  of  going 
to  him  and  confronting  him  with  his  deception. 
It  seemed  to  her  that  she  should  suffocate  if 
she  did  not  let  him  know  how  she  scorned  and 
despised  him.  Then  the  impulse  died  away,  its 
angry  impetuosity  quieted  by  the  memory  of  a 
vague  sweet  hope,  —  a  hope  too  tremulous  and 
unformed  even  to  dwell  on,  for  a  breath  might 
blow  it  away.  So  faint  was  it  that  Sylvia 
pressed  both  hands  on  her  heart  to  still  its 
quickened  throbs  for  fear  of  too  much  joy.  And 
yet,  feeble  as  it  was,  it  had  the  strength  to  give 
her  power  to  keep  silence.  If  it  were  as  she 
hoped,  Philippe  had  found  an  innocent  defen 
der  :  as  her  child's  father,  he  was  secured  from 
any  outbreak  on  her  part.  "  lie  is  faithful  to 
his  church,  and  brave  for  his  country.  Let  me 
only  remember  that." 


A    TRANSATLANTIC    CHATELAINE.          279 

That  same  night  Monsieur  Regnier  wrote  to 
his  son  about  the  new  countess  :  "  She  struck 
me  at  first  as  very  beautiful  and  exquisitely 
high-bred  in  appearance.  I  say  at  first,  because 
when  I  had  talked  with  her,  and  learnt  a  little 
of  the  real  woman,  I  lost  sight  of  the  dainty  ex 
terior,  and  thought  only  of  the  soul  beneath  it. 
She  is  not  happy,  I  am  sure.  Who  could  be,  as 
the  wife  of  Philippe  ?  No  one  ;  that  is,  no  one 
of  any  fineness  or  delicacy  of  character,  and  I 
think  she  has  both.  She  said  she  knew  you ; 
but  either  you  never  told  me  of  her,  or  the  cir 
cumstance  slipped  my  memory.  Poor  child,  my 
heart  goes  out  to  her.  If  I  had  the  power  I 
would  forbid  international  marriages. 

"  I  can  hear  you  laugh,  you  rogue,  at  your 
old  father  when  you  read  these  words.  '  That 
time -honored  hobby-horse  trotted  out  again,' 
you  say.  I  know  all  the  arguments  in  favor  of 
them  by  heart :  new  blood  improves  the  race, 
etc.  Yes,  yes,  you  are  right,  no  doubt,  scientifi 
cally  ;  but  I  don't  care  for  science  at  all,  and 
not  much  for  the  race,  compared  with  the  indi 
vidual  who  is  sacrificed.  It  is  a  sacrifice  to  give 
up  family,  home,  and  country  for  a  foreigner. 
And  all  these  sweet,  gentle  young  girls  who 
come  so  freely  to  strange  lands  —  what  do  they 
suspect  of  the  nature  of  the  men  they  marry  ? 

"  Nothing,   absolutely  nothing,  I  tell  you  ;  it 


280         A    TRANSATLANTIC    CHATELAINE. 

is  their  ancestors  who  are  vinlearnable,  and  who 
look  through  ordinary  eyes  with  untranslatable 
looks.  Take  the  new  countess,  who  looks,  by  the 
way,  as  nobly  born  as  any  daughter  of  kings,  — 
well,  why  not  ?  She  has  as  many  grandfathers 
as  a  duchess,  I  suppose,  only  one  of  them  hap 
pened  to  sail  the  ocean ;  the  land  is  new,  but  the 
blood  is  ancient,  —  take  her  for  an  example  ;  she 
is  like  the  cedar  of  Lebanon  when  it  was  first 
brought  here  from  the  Holy  Land  ;  atmosphere, 
past,  background,  all  stripped  from  her.  Im 
agine  yourself  among  people  to  whom  you  could 
never  say,  '  Do  you  remember  ? ' 

"  Half  life's  charm  has  gone.  Well,  well,  it 
is  after  midnight,  so  I  will  have  mercy  on  you 
and  stop.  Madame  Philippe  has  gone  to  my 
head  like  strong  tea,  —  if  I  were  forty  years 
younger  it  would  have  been  heart  instead  of 
head.  My  dear  old  friend  seems  very  happy 
with  her  daughter-in-law ;  God  grant  she  may 
live  out  the  rest  of  her  life  in  peace.  Ah,  my 
boy,  it  is  good  to  be  able  to  make  a  friend  of 
your  son  ;  let  us  be  tender  towards  those  who 
have  not  this  comfort.  I  live  for  your  letters. 
Good  night.  —  Thy  loving  FATHER. 

"  P.  S.  Berthe  has  already  begun  to  plan  how 
best  to  convert  the  newcomer." 

This  letter  brought  to  Maurice  a  renewal  of 
the  restless  feelings  that  he  had  believed  stifled 


A    TRANSATLANTIC   CHATELAINE.          281 

since  he  had  heard  of  Sylvia's  marriage.  For 
months  he  had  been  in  bitter  revolt  against  fate, 
—  a  revolt  that  would  have  led  many  a  man  into 
a  life  of  reckless  rebellion  ;  but  he  had  a  strong 
anchor  in  his  father's  love,  and  under  the  first 
adverse  circumstances  of  his  life  he  learned  with 
pain  and  faltering  to  curb  the  enthusiastic  vio 
lence  of  his  character,  and  to  come,  through  suf 
fering,  to  strength.  One  may  doubt  if  even  he 
realized  how  much  the  encouraging,  admiring 
words  written  by  the  old  man  helped  him  in  his 
struggle. 

What  is  more  beautiful  than  the  trusting, 
blind,  heartfelt  adoration  given  by  parents  to 
their  children.  The  tender,  indulgent  apprecia 
tion  never  injures,  for  even  the  weakest,  most 
shallow  natures  can  see  the  affection  prompting 
it.  What  boy  has  not  been  helped  and  cheered 
on  to  his  first  scholastic  efforts  by  the  memory  of 
his  mother's  wonder  at  his  cleverness  in  Latin, 
and  his  father's  encouraging  praise  of  his  mathe 
matics  ?  What  girl  has  not  had  the  triumph  of 
her  first  ball  heightened,  or  perhaps,  alas,  the 
mortification  of  an  evening  among  the  wallflow 
ers  softened,  by  the  knowledge  that  at  home  she 
was  considered  to  be  without  a  rival  for  grace 
and  beauty  ?  Happy,  thrice  happy,  are  those  who 
have  received  and  appreciated  this  home  love 
and  admiration  before  it  is  too  late  ;  and  let  us 


282         A    TRANSATLANTIC    CHATELAINE. 

who  have  had  the  ideal  stimulus  to  spur  us  to 
our  best,  be  very  lenient  to  those  who  have  never 
known  it. 

Maurice  not  only  realized  what  he  was  to  his 
father,  but  he  felt  a  warm  glow  of  gratitude  for 
it.  Sylvia  had  never  stood  securely,  confidently 
sure  in  any  heart  but  the  one  she  had  rejected. 


CHAPTER   XIV. 

SYLVIA  threw  herself  into  the  preparations  for 
the  reposoir  with  almost  an  exaggerated  enthu 
siasm,  so  thankful  was  she  to  occupy  her  mind 
with  outside  interests.  Over  arid  over  again  she 
repeated  to  herself  that  Philippe's  religion  was 
deep  and  real  to  him,  and  forced  herself  to  a 
sympathy  with  the  symbols  of  it.  She  delighted 
the  countess  by  her  help  and  taste,  and  under  the 
directions  of  the  two  chatelaines,  the  altar  was 
erected  in  the  court.  The  Sunday  dawned  clear 
and  fresh,  and  by  afternoon  the  last  touches  were 
put  to  the  decorations,  and  the  family  assembled 
to  greet  the  curd  and  villagers.  Philippe  and 
his  wife  stood  by  the  entering  arch  to  give  the 
welcomes.  This  was  the  first  time  that  Madame 
de  La  Roche  had  openly  given  precedence  to 
her  daughter-in-law,  and  she  felt  it  a  fitting  time 
to  step  aside  and  let  the  little  world  clustered 
at  her  gates  see  that  a  new  queen  was  to  reign. 
There  was  no  feeling  of  bitterness  in  her  heart ; 
only  the  natural  melancholy  which  comes  to  us 
all  when  we  realize  the  inevitability  of  years. 

As  Sylvia  looked  along  the  straggling  street 


284         A    TRANSATLANTIC    CHATELAINE. 

of  the  little  village  which  ran  at  right  angles  to 
the  avenue,  ending  abruptly  at  a  gate  in  the  high 
walls,  she  saw  the  procession  advancing :  first 
the  women,  tidy  in  their  Llack  dresses  and  snowy 
caps,  some  of  them  with  babies  in  their  arms  ; 
then  the  men,  awkward  and  slouching  in  the 
unaccustomed  finery  of  best  clothes,  and  miss 
ing  their  ordinary  garb  of  blouse  and  sabots ; 
after  them  scudded  a  host  of  children,  their 
faces  shining  with  recently  administered  soap 
and  water,  their  hair  plastered  to  the  sides  of 
their  heads.  As  they  reached  the  archway,  the 
sounds  of  the  village  fanfare  burst  forth,  herald 
ing  the  approach  of  the  cure. 

Before  him  came  a  group  of  young  girls  clus 
tered  about  one  who  carried  a  banner ;  their 
white  dresses  and  floating  blue  ribbons  became 
their  sweet  serious  faces :  they  were  still  near 
enough  to  childhood  to  feel  the  touch  of  Heaven 
upon  them.  Then,  walking  slowly  and  with  dig 
nity  under  a  canopy  surmounted  by  white  plumes, 
the  cure  advanced.  The  sun  glittered  on  his 
gold-embroidered  robes,  and  touched  with  silver 
his  white  hair.  As  he  passed  under  the  arch  he 
paused  a  moment,  stretched  out  his  hand  in  a 
silent  blessing,  and  then  proceeded  to  the  altar. 
It  stood  facing  him  as  he  entered,  towering  up 
until  the  gilded  dome  sheltering  a  statue  of  the 
Virgin  seemed  almost  to  touch  the  piled -up 


A    TRANSATLANTIC    CHATELAINE.          285 

masses  of  snow  -  gleaming  clouds,  that  sailed 
slowly  through  the  deep  blue  sky,  casting  a  radi 
ance  of  reflected  glory.  The  priest  mounted  the 
steps  leading  to  the  altar,  —  on  either  side  of 
him  stood  heavy  silver  candelabra,  their  lighted 
candles  giving  a  steady  but  ineffectual  light  in 
the  brilliant  summer  atmosphere ;  rare  embroid 
eries  were  flung  down  as  if  unworthy  that  the 
man  of  God  should  tread  on  them ;  and  every 
where,  above,  below,  was  a  wealth  of  flowers, 
massed  so  as  to  give  broad  effects  of  color,  and 
casting  their  fragrance  on  the  air.  The  music 
resounded  through  the  court.  The  peasants 
crowded  nearer  the  reposoir,  their  sighs  telling 
of  their  satisfaction  in  its  beauty.  Then  the 
cure  turned  and  extended  his  hands  ;  the  strains 
sank  into  silence ;  every  one  knelt,  and  as  the 
service  began,  only  a  little,  unconscious  bird  in 
terrupted  the  sonorous  Latin,  as  it  perched  on 
the  cedar  and  sang  with  throbbing  throat  of  that 
love  which  was  from  the  beginning,  and  shall  be 
to  the  end.  At  the  foot  of  the  altar  steps  stood 
two  children,  dressed  and  wreathed  in  white ;  at 
the  solemn  moment  of  the  elevation  of  the  Host, 
when  every  head  was  bowed  almost  to  the  ground, 
they  alone  stood  erect,  scattering  rose-petals,  well 
pleased  with  the  importance  of  their  task. 

The  short  service  ended  with  a  prayer  in  their 
own  tongue,  asking  a  blessing  on  the  chateau,  and 


286          A    TRANSATLANTIC    CHATELAINE. 

then  the  cure  came  down,  nearer  to  his  people. 
This  was  the  signal  for  the  mothers  to  bring 
their  babies  to  be  blessed  ;  one  after  another 
they  gathered  about  his  feet  for  him  to  rest  the 
Host  lightly  on  the  little  heads,  and  murmur 
the  words  of  the  benediction.  Something  in  the 
faith  and  simplicity  displayed  by  the  women,  or 
the  look  on  the  cure's  face  as  he  started  the  feeble 
feet  along  the  path  he  had  trodden  so  long  and 
so  patiently,  moved  Sylvia.  If  everything  else 
were  denied  to  her,  could  not  she  draw  nearer 
to  her  husband  through  the  influence  of  his  reli 
gion  ?  A  strong  desire  to  prove  her  sympathy 
with  him  on  one  point  at  least  took  possession 
of  her  ;  it  was  only  honorable  to  try  and  do  her 
best.  Touched  and  softened  as  she,  an  outsider, 
was,  surely  he  would  feel  this  moment  to  be  a 
sacred  one.  She  invested  him  with  all  the  rev 
erence  and  sincerity  he  had  taught  her  to  think 
he  possessed,  and  for  a  moment  she  hesitated  to 
break  in  on  the  sanctity  of  his  thoughts ;  then 
she  reflected  that  it  was  her  duty  to  let  no  op 
portunity  slip  which  might  bring  them  ever  so 
little  more  into  accord. 

She  turned  slightly  towards  him,  and  looked 
at  him  ;  he  was  absorbed  in  the  contemplation  of 
something  which  brought  an  eager  light  to  his 
tawny  eyes,  and  a  sensual  expression  to  his  glis 
tening  lips.  Sylvia  felt  a  cold  shock  at  his 


A    TRANSATLANTIC    CHATELAINE.          287 

appearance,  and  then  her  gaze  involuntarily  fol 
lowed  his,  and  rested  on  a  fresh-colored,  well- 
made  peasant  woman,  who  was  returning  his 
glances  with  an  air  of  intelligent  familiarity. 
The  young  chatelaine  grew  sick  and  faint' with 
disgust.  Standing  by  her  side,  before  the  altar 
to  his  God,  her  husband  could  carry  on  a  vulgar 
intrigue  with  a  peasant.  That  there  was  nothing 
but  the  impulse  of  the  moment  in  it  made  no 
difference  to  her ;  she  did  not  go  beyond  the 
glances  exchanged,  the  expression  on  his  face  — 
that  was  enough. 

She  slipped  away  unobserved  to  her  own 
room,  and  lay  there  on  her  couch  shivering  with 
the  loathsomeness  of  it  all.  What  was  there 
for  her  to  complain  of?  Intangible  ideas,  no 
thing  more,  and  yet  she  felt  that  some  noisome 
influence  had  crept  near  her.  In  spite  of  her 
contempt  and  scorn,  she  whispered  :  "  Still,  he 
is  brave  ;  let  me  think  of  that." 

As  she  lay  there  a  sudden  knock  at  her 
door  aroused  her,  and  Philippe  entered  abruptly. 
There  was  an  angry  look  now  in  his  eyes,  and 
Sylvia  found  it  more  wholesome  than  the  one  it 
had  blotted  out. 

"  Are  you  tired,  my  dear  ? "  he  asked  with 
perfunctory  politeness. 

"  Yes,  very  tired,"  answered  Sylvia. 

"  No  wonder,  with  all  the  nonsense  out  there. 


288          A    TRANSATLANTIC    CHATELAINE. 

It  seems  to  me  that  the  cure  adds  something 
every  year  to  make  the  whole  thing  more  intol 
erable.  If  he  only  chose  some  pretty  girls  for 
the  banner  bearers,  it  would  not  be  so  bad." 

"Or  he  might  organize  a  ballet  to  amuse 
you,"  said  Sylvia  bitterly. 

Philippe  raised  his  eyebrows,  and  laughed. 
"  Don't  let  my  mother  hear  you  say  that  sort 
of  thing,"  he  advised.  "  It  does  not  matter 
with  me,  of  course,  for  I  have  graduated  from 
all  these  superstitious  ideas ;  but  they  are  very 
real  to  her.  And  let  me  say,"  he  added,  growing 
grave,  "  that  it  is  always  becoming  to  a  woman 
of  position  to  assume  a  soupcon  of  devotion." 

Sylvia  made  no  answer,  and  after  a  short 
pause  he  resumed :  "  I  did  not  come  here, 
however,  to  preach  to  you,  but  to  tell  you  that 
something  decided  must  be  done  about  Justine. 
She  is  making  a  devil  of  a  row  with  Marcel, 
and  it  must  stop." 

Sylvia  sat  upright  on  her  sofa,  a  flush  rising 
in  her  cheeks.  "  Very  well,  then,  dismiss  Mar 
cel  ;  it  is  simple  enough,"  she  said  quickly. 

The  angry  look  had  come  again  to  Philippe's 
face,  but  his  voice  was  calm,  and  he  spoke 
slowly.  "  It  would  be  still  more  simple  to  dis 
miss  Justine,"  he  said. 

"  That  is  out  of  the  question,"  retorted  Sylvia 
hotly. 


A    TRANSATLANTIC    CHATELAINE.          289 

He  smiled.  "  You  go  a  little  too  far,  my 
dear ;  nothing  is  out  of  the  question  that  I 
desire.  Don't  get  excited,  but  try  to  take  a 
reasonable  view.  Justine  has  made  trouble." 

"  I  will  hear  nothing  against  her  —  nothing, 
nothing,"  protested  Sylvia.  "  She  is  all  I  have 
left  of  my  very  own,  and  no  earthly  power  shall 
separate  us." 

Philippe  grew  white  with  anger. 

"  I  have  had  enough  of  your  American  inde 
pendence,'  you  are  my  wife,  and,  by  Heaven, 
you  shall  obey  me." 

Sylvia  hated  him  less  at  this  minute  than 
she  had  for  weeks.  She  liked  his  authority, 
although  it  enraged  her ;  but  as  he  lost  his  self- 
control  she  regained  hers. 

"Philippe,"  she  said  very  gently,  "I  never 
meant  to  annoy  you,  and  I  beg  your  pardon  if 
I  have  been  careless  of  your  feelings,  but  I  do 
ask  you  to  let  me  keep  the  woman  by  me  who 
has  been  a  mother  to  me  all  my  life.  It  is  not 
much  at  this  time  for  me  to  have  a  wish  that  she 
may  stay  with  me  through  the  autumn  —  surely, 
it  is  a  little  thing  for  me  to  ask." 

Philippe  rose  and  went  towards  the  door. 
"  Of  course  you  are  like  every  other  woman, 
and  make  a  good  use  of  your  weakness ;  but 
understand  this :  I  will  have  no  more  interfer 
ence  with  my  household  from  that  old  spy.  She 


290  A    TRANSATLANTIC    CHATELAINE. 

is  always  trying  to  find  out  things  that  are  no 
business  of  hers.  The  next  time  she  makes 
trouble  will  be  the  last  under  this  roof." 

Almost  before  he  angrily  slammed  the  door 
behind  him  Sylvia  heard  a  long,  shivering  sob, 
and  Justine  came  slowly  from  the  dressing-room. 
She  stood  halfway  across  the  room,  her  face 
covered  with  her  hands. 

"  Let  me  go  away,  Madame ;  let  me  leave 
you,  my  lamb,  before  I  bring  more  trouble  on 
you.  I  heard  what  he  said  —  how  he  spoke  to 
you  —  you.  Oh,  my  God,  I  cannot  bear  it!  " 

"  Come  here,  Justine,  —  come  here,  my  poor 
old  dear.  There,  don't  cry  so  hard,  it  hurts 
me  to  hear  you.  Listen  to  me.  You  and  I  are 
together  for  life,  until  death  takes  one  of  us. 
Who  is  there  who  loves  me  like  you,  Justine  ? 
No  one." 

"  If  you  had  been  my  own  child,  I  could 
not  have  loved  you  more,  my  precious  one. 
When  I  heard  that  you  were  to  be  the  countess 
here  I  thought  my  heart  would  burst  with  joy. 
I  had  prayed  for  it,  and  see  what  my  prayers 
have  brought  you  to." 

"  No,  Justine,  be  honest,  and  don't  blame 
yourself,  my  poor  dear.  I  chose  my  life  with 
my  eyes  open." 

She  paused,  for  as  she  spoke  she  realized  that 
the  words  were  a  lie.  Justine  broke  in  :  — 


A    TRANSATLANTIC    CHATELAINE.  291 

"  No,  no,  neither  your  eyes  nor  mine  were 
open.  There  has  been  falsehood  everywhere. 
To  think  that  my  own  nephew  could  have  lied 
to  me,  the  " 

"  Hush,  hush  —  the  past  is  past ;  let  us  leave 
it  behind  us,  and  see  what  we  can  do  with  the 
future." 

After  all,  Philippe  was  her  husband.  She 
could  not  hear  him  accused  either  directly  or  by 
inference,  however  stern  her  own  judgment  of 
him  might  be. 

"  Good  may  come  to  us,  my  Justine.  One 
thing,  too,  is  sure  and  certain ;  you  and  I  are 
to  be  together  always.  Nothing,  nothing  shall 
part  us." 

"  And  you  do  not  think  me  a  spy,  Madame  ?  " 

"  You  old  silly  soul,  no,  of  course  not.  Do  I 
act  as  if  I  did  ?  " 

It  was  a  new  position  for  Sylvia,  to  have  some 
one  leaning  on  her  for  comfort,  and  even  in  her 
own  sorrow  it  warmed  her  cold  heart.  She  sent 
Justine  for  tea,  and  demanded  much  petting 
from  her,  thus  calming  the  poor  creature  by  let 
ting  her  see  how  necessary  she  was  to  her  mis 
tress's  comfort.  But  though  the  heavy  groaning 
sobs  ceased,  and  her  dark  eyes  became  dry,  a 
deeper  hatred  of  the  count  scarred  Justine's  faith 
ful,  narrow,  fanatical  nature  from  that  hour  on. 

In  the  long  summer  days  which  opened  like 


292          A     TRANSATLANTIC    CHATELAINE. 

roses,  and  faded  in  the  ashes  of  burnt-out  sun 
sets, —  clays  of  beauty,  luxuriance,  and  poetry, 
—  Sylvia  might  have  yielded  to  the  monotony 
and  helplessness  of  her  life  but  for  two  things : 
the  hours  spent  with  her  mother-in-law  making 
dainty  preparations  with  loving  fingers,  talking 
and  hoping  as  women  do  with  such  a  hope 
ahead,  and  her  occasional  calls  at  La  Source, 
where  she  grew  to  feel  like  a  child  of  the  house. 
Her  friendship  with  Monsieur  Kegnier  grew  and 
waxed  strong.  There  was 'a  bond  between  them 
of  which  he  was  ignorant,  but  which  was  made 
apparent  to  her  by  certain  tones  of  his  voice, 
and  flashes  of  his  eye  which  called  Maurice 
vividly  before  her.  She  soon  found  that  his 
studies  had  made  him  unlike  the  people  who 
surrounded  her.  He  was  broader,  more  daring 
in  the  views  he  took  on  all  subjects,  especially 
on  religious  matters.  Neither  a  fanatic  nor  a 
scoffer,  he  looked  at  his  relation  to  his  Maker  as 
a  matter  which  was  solely  his  own  affair.  He  did 
not  interfere  with  those  beliefs  which  brought 
comfort  to  others,  and  he  demanded  the  same 
treatment  for  himself.  lie  was  always  a  kind 
and  friendly  host  to  the  priests  with  whom  his 
daughter  loved  to  surround  herself,  but  he 
sternly  repelled  any  advances  on  their  part 
when  it  affected  his  position  towards  religion. 
It  is  easy  to  imagine  what  a  breeze  of  interest 


A    TRANSATLANTIC    CHATELAINE.          293 

Sylvia  created  in  his  lonely  mental  life.  She 
came  fresh  and  unprejudiced  to  give  just  the 
stimulus  he  needed.  The  benefit  was  mutual, 
for  from  his  lips  Sylvia  heard  those  views  of 
life  and  its  duties  which  appealed  most  strongly 
to  her.  They  would  spend  whole  afternoons 
pacing  up  and  down  under  the  fragrant  lindens, 
talking  of  the  message  that  had  come  to  the 
world  from  the  Cross  on  Calvary,  and  what  its 
meaning  was.  For  the  first  time  Sylvia  began 
to  think  of  Christ  as  an  influence,  a  power  of 
to-day,  not  as  a  dim  vision  of  pain  and  renun 
ciation.  There  are  some  natures  who  find  and 
love  Him.  first,  pouring  out  their  best  and  finest 
adoration  at  his  feet,  and  because  of  Him  lov 
ing  those  made  in  his  image.  There  are  others 
who  must  work  up  to  the  highest,  purest  love, 
because  their  teaching  begins  at  the  other  end ; 
they  first  love  the  things  and  creatures  He  made 
and  through  this  love  they  find  Him.  The  Al 
pha  of  the  one  is  the  Omega  of  the  other ;  and 
step  by  step,  beginning  humbly  and  ignorantly, 
Sylvia  found  herself  finding  life  not  less  difficult, 
but  herself  more  capable  of  bearing  it. 

Monsieur  Regnier  was  not  in  his  right  place. 
He  recognized  that  other  surroundings  would 
have  opened  up  new  lines  of  action  to  him,  and 
he  might  have  been  a  power  in  the  world ;  but, 
with  that  dignified  acquiescence  to  the  inevit- 


294  A    TRANSATLANTIC    CHATELAINE. 

able  which  was  one  of  his  strongest  character 
istics,  he  had  accepted  his  lot  from  the  start 
without  rebellion  if  without  enthusiasm.  There 
was  much  quaint  humor  in  his  make-up,  a  cer 
tain  faculty  for  seeing  the  possibility  of  a  smile 
where  another  would  have  found  but  tears. 
Some  ancestor,  a  devoted  follower,  perhaps,  of 
Henry  IV.,  had  transmitted  to  this  remote  de 
scendant  a  drop  of  Huguenot  blood,  and  it  was 
enough  to  turn  him  from  the  church  of  his  fam 
ily,  although  it  had  not  had  strength  to  darken 
his  natural  cheerfulness  with  the  austerity  and 
rigor  that  seem  inseparable  to  our  minds  from 
French  Protestants.  He  would  doubtless  have 
died  for  his  faith  had  he  lived  in  the  days  of 
Catherine  de  Medicis  and  the  Guises ;  he  would 
have  died  singing,  like  the  brave  Huguenots  who 
perished  at  Amboise,  their  voices  ceasing,  as  one 
by  one  ended  his  song  here  only  to  resume  it 
above,  —  but  Armand  Regnier  would  have  lived 
as  they  died,  with  music  on  his  lips,  and  light 
in  his  eyes.  His  religion  gave  him  joy  ;  he  felt 
that  grief  and  discontent  were  wrongs  done  to 
the  infinite  wisdom  that  has  placed  us  for  a  time 
in  this  world  of  sharp  contrasts.  To  one  looking 
on  from  the  outside,  as,  for  instance,  Madame 
de  La  Roche  did,  there  was  a  deep  pathos  in  the 
thought  that  from  an  accident  merely  this  man 
of  intellect,  with  a  capacity  for  action  and  lead- 


A    TRANSATLANTIC    CHATELAINE.          295 

ership,  had  been  condemned  to  a  life  of  obscur 
ity  and  monotony ;  but  he  saw  only  the  guiding 
hand  that  had  led  him  through  a  childhood  and 
youth  of  peril  to  his  native  land,  and  that  had 
given  him  a  kindly  asylum  under  the  roof  where 
by  rights  he  should  have  been  master. 

During  the  many  years  he  spent  there  he  had 
never  by  word  or  deed  shown  any  envy  of  his 
younger  half-brother,  or  any  sign  of  bitterness. 
The  only  way  in  which  he  had  ever  hurt  them 
was  by  his  resolute  adherence  to  his  form  of 
faith.  In  vain  had  his  father,  then  old  and 
feeble,  tried  to  convince  him  by  setting  the 
cleverest  and  most  subtle  of  churchmen  to  argue 
with  him.  He  never  denied  any  of  their  state 
ments,  or  let  them  see  that  he  found  their 
answers  to  his  questions  unsatisfactory ;  but  he 
set  his  course  for  himself,  and,  steering  by  the 
steady  light  of  the  Star  of  Bethlehem,  he  sailed 
straight  on. 

The  old  count  used  to  shake  his  head  patheti 
cally.  "  I  should  not  mind  it  if  you  were  an 
atheist,  my  boy,  but  a  Protestant  —  it  is  too 
bourgeois,  I  cannot  understand  it,"  he  would 
say. 

It  may  have  been  that  no  sect  could  have 
claimed  Regnier :  he  worshiped  at  no  temple ; 
he  had  his  own  theories  and  beliefs ;  he  lived 
up  to  them,  but  he  never  tried  to  convert  an- 


296         A     TRANSATLANTIC    CHATELAINE. 

other  to  his  manner  of  thinking.  His  idea  was 
that  from  the  very  beginning  God  had  revealed 
himself  to  man  in  the  way  most  appealing  to 
his  acre  and  surroundings.  If  He  covdd  do  this 

o  o 

with  nations,  why  not  with  individuals? 

But  this  was  the  only  flaw  in  the  love  and 
trust  his  family  had  for  Arm  and.  In  all  other 
ways  he  was,  if  anything,  too  submissive  to  their 
wishes.  This  was  shown  when  he  accepted  the 
wife  his  half-brother  chose  for  him  in  the  happy 
glow  of  a  young  husband  who  has  found  unex 
pected  happiness  in  marriage. 

At  that  time  Armand  was  forty,  and  had 
settled  himself  cheerfully  into  his  lifework  as 
steward  of  the  count's  property.  He  had  his 
suite  of  rooms,  already  the  beginning  of  a  noble 
library,  and  marriage  was  the  last  thing  he 
wanted.  But  his  tender  heart  had  ached  many 
times  as  he  remembered  how  his  religious  atti 
tude  had  troubled  his  father.  Here  was  a  case 
that  involved  personal  inclination  merely,  and 
he  gave  in.  The  six  years  he  spent  with  his  wife 
were  the  only  ones  he  ever  looked  back  on  with 
regret.  She  had  been  a  small-minded  person, 
had  hurt  him  daily  in  a  hundred  different  ways, 
had  made  peace  of  mind  impossible  in  her  com 
pany  ;  but  he  remembered  only  that  he  had 
not  loved  her,  had  not  done  his  best  to  try  to 
broaden  and  stimulate  her  mind,  never  reflect- 


A    TRANSATLANTIC    CHATELAINE.         297 

ing  that  not  one  harsh  word  had  ever  been 
uttered  by  him,  and  that  she  had  not  for  one 
moment  suspected  his  lack  of  love  for  her. 

"  She  gave  me  Maurice,  too,"  he  used  to  say 
sometimes  to  himself  in  a  reproachful  mood ; 
"but,  dame!  she  gave  me  Berthe  as  well,  so 
perhaps  we  are  quits." 

His  daughter  was  not  the  trial  to  him  that  his 
wife  had  been,  although  it  was  hardly  her  fault 
that  she  was  not ;  she  had  all  the  capacity  for  it. 
She  ruled  his  household,  his  expenditures,  and 
flattered  herself  that  she  ruled  him,  but  that  was 
his  little  secret,  and  he  chuckled  quietly  over  it ; 
he  was  free.  He  had  established  'certain  laws 
when  she  first  came  to  live  nine  months  of  the 
year  with  him,  and  as  he  had  cunningly  allowed 
her  to  suggest  them  herself  after  some  clever 
leading  up  to  the  subject  on  his  part,  she  ad 
hered  to  them  with  the  tenacity  of  her  shallow 
nature. 

In  this  way  he  was  absolutely  free  from  any 
interruption  when  in  his  library,  or  out  of  it, 
during  certain  hours,  and  thus  he  maintained  his 
liberty,  for  he  almost  lived  among  his  books, 
when  he  was  not  busy  in  his  vineyards.  There 
she  did  not  care  to  follow  him,  but  her  sturdy, 
fat -legged  children  always  escaped  from  re 
straining  hands  to  follow  grandpa,  and  when  he 
gathered  them  about  him  at  a 'safe  distance  from 


298         A    TRANSATLANTIC    CHATELAINE. 

the  house,  he  felt  that  he  could  forgive  Berthe 
everything  in  return  for  this  pleasure.  He  loved 
to  tell  them  old-time  tales,  and  watch  their  solemn 
faces,  and  the  slow  laughter  rippling  over  them 
when  the  joke  had  had  time  to  sink  in.  He  could 
always  find  something  in  the  day's  work  to  bring 
a  smile,  for  he  had  a  keen  sense  of  humor,  and 
this  was  one  of  his  qualities  that  appealed  most 
strongly  to  Sylvia,  who  felt  the  need  of  laughter 
in  these  sombre  days. 

At  the  chateau  no  one  saw  a  joke,  and  some 
times  she  felt  that  she  must  either  laugh,  or  cry 
her  heart  out. 

Flora  had  gone  early  in  the  summer ;  she  felt 
uneasy  and  troubled  whenever  she  looked  at  the 
new  countess.  At  times  she  almost  wished  that 
she  had  never  meddled  with  her  affairs  at  all, 
but  the  wish  was  not  a  hearty  one,  for  she  could 
not  honestly  bring  herself  to  despise  the  tidy 
little  sum  at  her  banker's,  especially  when  she 
remembered  that,  if  Philippe  were  a  man  of  his 
word,  it  was  only  the  beginning  of  prosperous 
days.  Still  she  was  glad  to  get  away  among  the 
outside  world.  She  only,  with  the  exception  of 
old  Justine,  saw  how  changed  Sylvia  was ;  how 
capricious  she  had  grown,  how  she  avoided  her 
husband. 

There  was  a  note  of  despair  about  her  that 
would  suddenly  disappear  before  a  burst  of  high 


A    TRANSATLANTIC    CHATELAINE.         299 

spirits  almost  hysterical ;  to  this  would  succeed 
hours,  often  days,  of  a  quiet  self-withdrawal  from 
those  about  her.  To  the  superficial  observer 
these  changes  were  inexplicable  ;  to  us,  who  have 
the  key,  it  is  easy  to  follow  Sylvia's  moods.  A 
chance  word  would  make  her  realize  forcibly 
that  she  was  Philippe's  wife,  that  she  was  bound 
to  him  until  death  did  them  part,  and  she  was 
ready  to  give  herself  to  the  placid  river  if  she 
could  only  escape  ;  but  when  the  cloud  was  heavi 
est  the  vivid  belief  in  Maurice's  honor  dazzled 
her  with  its  brilliancy ;  she  might  have  lost  his 
love,  but  she  had  her  faith  in  him  now  and  al 
ways.  What  wonder  that  the  contrast  brought 
a  reaction  that  amounted  to  an  ecstasy  while  it 
lasted  ? 

But  day  by  day  Sylvia's  moral  nature  grew 
stronger,  and  she  began  to  perceive  that  the  feel 
ing  for  Maurice  she  was  nourishing  and  foster 
ing  was  a  sin,  not  against  her  husband  only,  but 
against  herself,  and  that  part  of  herself  which 
would  not  die  with  her. 

Then  the  struggle  began.  Sins  of  imagination 
are  so  intangible  that  it  seems  almost  useless  to 
take  them  seriously,  and  often  Sylvia  mocked 
at  her  own  efforts  to  drive  Maurice  from  her 
mind. 

"  A  man  who  has  forgotten  me  probably,  or 
remembers  me  only  as  a  virago,  and  I  take  my- 


300         A    TRANSATLANTIC    CHATELAINE. 

self  to  task  because  I  love  to  think  of  him,  as  I 
might  of  a  statue  or  a  picture  !  What  nonsense 
it  is  !  I  am  growing  morbid.  I  will  dream  of 
him,  and  all  the  wonderful,  poetic  things  he  used 
to  say  to  me ;  it  harms  no  one." 

But  after  a  sunset  stroll  in  the  garden,  look 
ing  through  the  branches  of  the  cedar  at  the 
glowing  sky,  while  her  heart  sang  but  one  name 
and  bounded  at  but  one  thought,  she  found  it 
harder  than  ever  to  meet  her  husband  with 
calm  indifference.  Then  would  come  to  her  the 
reflection  that  perhaps  Death  was  waiting  for 
her,  and  that  with  each  succeeding  day  she  drew 
nearer  to  him.  She  could  not  tell  whether  she 
regarded  him  as  friend  or  foe ;  but  the  idea  al 
ways  brought  a  strange  quiet  with  it  that  seemed 
to  muffle  the  sounds  of  daily  life.  Philippe  paid 
but  little  attention  to  his  wife's  caprices  in  these 
days ;  he  found  that  she  responded  distantly  to 
any  mark  of  endearment  from  him,  and  as  these 
politenesses  had  become  rather  a  bore  to  him, 
he  let  her  severely  alone. 

His  life  for  the  time  being  was  entertaining, 
and  he  had  enough  money,  or  almost  enough, 
after  his  debts  were  paid,  to  begin  some  large 
improvements  on  the  estate  ;  besides  this  inter 
est  he  was  getting  his  chase  into  fine  condition 
for  the  autumn  hunting,  and  making  his  stables 
as  nearly  perfect  as  such  establishments  can  be. 


A    TRANSATLANTIC    CHATELAINE.         301 

In  consequence  of  an  addition  of  several  stalls, 
which  were  duly  filled  with  fine  horses,  Sylvia 
found  herself  almost  steedless,  for  the  new  and 
exceedingly  haughty  coachman  demanded  such 
an  amount  of  time  to  fulfill  an  order,  and  so 
much  red  tape  was  necessary  before  he  could  be 
communicated  with,  that  often  the  dinner-hour 
arrived  before  his  mistress  had  had  her  drive. 
Sylvia  was  too  proud,  perhaps  too  afraid  of  her 
own  temper,  to  appeal  to  Philippe,  who  cared  for 
nothing-  so  long-  as  the  stables  shone  like  jewels, 
and  the  horses  and  harnesses  were  kept  suffi 
ciently  polished ;  but  she  displayed  her  American 
independence  by  hiring  a  separate  stable  for  her 
own  horses  in  the  village,  and  with  a  new  coach 
man  established  over  them  she  once  more  drove 
when  and  where  she  pleased. 

This  small,  silent  skirmish  astonished  and 
rather  delighted  Madame  de  La  Koche  ;  she  had 
never  seen  a  woman  before  capable  of  asserting 
her  rights  so  decidedly  and  so  noiselessly,  and 
her  son's  indifference  to  his  wife's  actions  an 
noyed  her. 

He,  when  country  life  became  a  little  tiresome, 
would  run  up  to  Paris,  "  to  look  at  some  horses 
he  had  heard  of,"  and  as  he  generally  brought 
one  or  two  friends  home  with  him  the  chateau 
began  to  resume  its  old  air  of  bustle  and  gayety, 


302         .4    TRANSATLANTIC    CHATELAINE. 

which  delighted  the  hearts  in  the  servants'  quar- 
ters  at  least. 

Madame  de  La  Roche  grew  daily  fonder  of 
Sylvia,  first  because  there  was  a  depth  of  child 
like  affection  under  the  reserved  exterior  that 
showed  itself  but  shyly  and  rarely  ;  and  also 
because  the  bond  of  a  common  interest  drew 
them  together.  She  recognized  the  fact  that 
there  was  not  even  a  pretense  of  love  between 
the  husband  and  wife.  This  troubled  her  to  a 
certain  extent,  for  she  would  have  gladly  relived 
her  youth's  romance  in  their  lives  ;  but  she  com 
forted  herself  by  thinking  that  years  and  habit 
would  bring  them  closer  to  one  another,  and  she 
was  so  relieved  by  being  freed  from  the  degrad 
ing  pressure  of  debt,  so  happy  to  see  Philippe 
contenting  himself  in  a  regular,  well-ordered 
manner,  that  sentimental  burdens  ceased  to  op 
press  her. 

And  so  the  summer  slipped  by,  while  out 
wardly  the  people  in  the  chateau  led  the  same 
life,  side  by  side  ;  but  inwardly  each  was  going 
his  or  her  own  distinct  way.  It  is  almost  alarm 
ing  to  reflect  how  small  a  part  of  us  are  our  sur 
roundings.  What  an  elusive  unrestrained  vaga 
bond  is  the  self  that  looks  through  our  eyes !  It 
would  be  the  study  of  years  to  trace  the  cause 
of  the  subtle  turnings  and  twistings  in  our  own 


A    TRANSATLANTIC    CHATELAINE. 

souls,  and  yet  how  often  we  hear  the  expression, 
"  I  know  him  as  well  as  I  know  myself." 

No  one  really  knows  any  one  ;  and  this  being 
accepted,  how  was  Sylvia  ever  to  learn  her  new 
family,  or  they  her,  separated  as  they  were  by 
race,  by  all  the  weight  of  past  generations,  and 
by  the  responsibility  of  those  to  come  ? 


CHAPTER  XV. 

WITH  the  opening  of  the  hunting  season  a 
new  era  began  at  the  chateau  de  La  Roche.  The 
touch  of  the  freshly  acquired  gold  was  like  the 
kiss  of  the  Prince  in  the  palace  of  the  Sleeping 
Beauty.  During  the  spring  and  summer  Phi 
lippe  had  been  pushing  things,  with  the  result 
that  the  ample  stable,  which  for  many  years 
had  given  shelter  to  but  one  or  two  horses,  now 
presented  a  brave  front  to  the  army  of  grooms 
that  drilled  and  mano3uvred  under  the  direction 
of  the  haughty  head  coachman,  imported  from 
England.  Rows  of  guest-rooms  that  had  seen 
only  the  faint  glimmer  of  a  thief-like  sunbeam 
which  ventured  to  glide  through  the  closed  shut 
ters,  now  basked  in  the  full  rays  shed  by  the 
sun  in  at  the  wide-open  casements.  Galleries, 
silent  in  the  past,  or  echoing  but  to  the  nibble 
of  a  mouse  in  the  paneling,  now  rang  to  the 
busy  tread  of  the  many  servants  running  hither 
and  thither  to  the  rooms  of  guests  invited  for  the 
hunting:. 

O 

Sylvia  had  begged  off  from  receiving  many 
women,  so  the  outsiders  were  chiefly  men,  who 


A    TRANSATLANTIC    CHATELAINE.  305 

appeared  only  at  dinner,  talked  rapidly  and  con 
vincingly  of  the  day's  sport,  proving  that  if  they 
had  missed  their  game  it  was  but  the  fault  of 
the  powder,  and  if  they  had  been  successful,  it 
was  their  superior  skill.  She  quite  lost  run  of 
their  names,  they  followed  one  another  in  such 
quick  succession.  Some  were  handsome  ;  some 
tall  and  well-made  ;  most  of  them  were  clever, 
talking  with  an  epigrammatic  smartness  not 
difficult  to  adopt ;  but  not  one  combined  the 
qualities  owned  by  Maurice.  Even  a  common 
place  man  would  have  been  invested  by  Sylvia 
with  a  halo  of  romance  arising  from  the  fact 
that  she  had  wronged  him  ;  and  Maurice  was  no 
commonplace  person. 

For  the  first  time  in  his  life,  Philippe  was  al 
most  content ;  almost,  but  not  entirely  so.  In 
the  early  flush  of  good  resolve  following  his 
marriage,  he  had  paid  some  of  his  most  pressing- 
debts,  promising  himself,  and  his  creditors,  to 
continue  this  act  of  justice  as  he  received  his  in 
come.  But  after  his  return  to  his  property,  he 
was  like  an  impatient  child ;  he  could  not  wait 
a  year  to  make  good  the  damages  of  time,  so  he 
plunged  into  all  the  expense  incident  on  repair 
ing.  Then  the  ambition  seized  him  to  renew  the 
traditions  of  his  family,  and  to  show  the  neigh 
borhood  as  fine  a  pack  of  hounds  as  any  his  an 
cestors  ever  owned  ;  so  the  dogs  were  bought  at 


306          A    TRANSATLANTIC    CHATELAINE. 

great  expense,  and  established  with  the  neces 
sary  piqueurs,  grooms,  etc.,  on  an  outlying  farm. 

But  his  expenditure  was  not  limited  to  the 
country.  The  Parisian  apartment  had  lately 
grown  into  a  hotel,  whose  occupant  was  begin 
ning  to  give  Philippe  a  notoriety,  dear  to  some 
men,  by  being  known  as  the  most  luxurious  and 
extravagant  of  her  world. 

These  drains  were  undoubtedly  heavy,  but 
they  could  have  been  met,  if  the  old  passion  for 
gambling  had  not  resumed  its  powerful  fascina 
tions  for  the  count,  fastening  on  him  with  fresh 
strength  after  his  short  rest. 

He  was  fully  aware  of  its  dangers  ;  he  realized 
its  despotism,  and  he  swore  again  and  again  to 
abandon  all  play  ;  but  it  was  late  in  the  day  for 
him  to  acquire  self-control.  The  habits  of  his 
youth,  when  a  slight  penance  could  ease  his  con 
science  from  all  sting  of  remorse,  no  matter  what 
the  offense  had  been,  and  the  shallow  skepticism 
that  had  followed  close  on  the  heels  of  this  early 
credulity,  made  him  an  impotent  prey  to  his  own 
passions.  The  fact  that  he  was  so  soon  again 
heavily  in  debt  troubled  him,  but  he  found  it 
easy  enough  to  reason  away  any  feeling  of  shame 
caused  by  the  reflection  of  the  unworthy  desires 
that  had  brought  him  to  this  pass.  All  expense 
incurred  for  the  improvement  of  the  estate  would 
make  it  more  valuable  for  those  who  would  come 


A    TRANSATLANTIC    CHATELAINE.  307 

after  him,  so  what  he  had  done  in  that  direction 
was  not  blamable.  The  establishment  in  Paris 
was  paid  for  scrupulously  from  his  own  income, 
so  no  one  could  reproach  him  about  that ;  thus 
he  argued  easuistically  to  himself.  But  the 
gambling  was  not  to  be  dismissed  in  so  cavalier 
a  fashion ;  the  debts  run  up  there  were  what 
we  call  —  is  it  in  sarcasm  ?  —  debts  of  honor. 
To  meet  their  imperative  demands  he  renewed 
his  obligations  to  the  Jews ;  but  that  could  not 
last  long  ;  for  they  had  learned  that  it  was  only 
the  income  of  his  wife's  fortune  which  fell  actu 
ally  into  his  hands,  and  alarmed  for  the  safety  of 
the  large  sums  already  advanced,  they  began  to 
dun  him. 

This  was  the  reopening  of  an  old  wound ;  con 
sequently  more  unbearable.  He  could  not  stand 
this  sort  of  thing  as  well  as  he  had  formerly ; 
his  nerves  were  losing  their  iron  consistency. 
Since  he  had  reaped  the  actual  benefits  of  wealth, 
he  had  become  in  a  certain  manner  conservative. 
He  was  in  an  uncomfortable  state,  and  felt  it 
an  injustice  that  Sylvia  should  have  such  huge 
sums  lying  at  rest,  earning  leisurely  interest, 
when  he  was  so  tormented.  He  thought  once 
or  twice  of  taking  her  halfway  into  his  confi 
dence  ;  of  telling  her  just  enough  to  make  her 
feel  an  impulse  to  help  him  :  but  some  subtle 
instinct  kept  him  back.  He  was  riding  home 


308  A    TRANSATLANTIC    CHATELAINE. 

from  hunting  one  misty  evening  towards  the  end 
of  October  when  the  cares,  banished  during  the 
excitement  of  the  day,  thronged  round  him. 

"  It 's  a  pleasant  state  of  things  when  I  dread 
to  go  home,  for  fear  of  finding  some  confounded 
message  to  worry  me ;  this  must  stop.  Why 
don't  I  speak  to  Sylvia  ?  She  's  my  wife  ;  she 
belongs  to  me.  What  is  there  about  the  woman, 
confound  her,  that  makes  me  respect  her?" 

It  was  true  :  she  had  forced  him  to  accord  her 
respect,  if  nothing  else.  The  fact  was  that  he 
did  not  dare  to  ask  her  for  money,  and  as  he  pon 
dered  an  idea  struck  him  ;  he  would  write  to  her 
man  of  business  in  Boston  telling  him  to  advance 
the  January  interest.  That  was  all  that  was  re 
quired  for  the  present ;  it  would  stop  the  barking 
mouths  of  those  curs,  and  afterwards  he  would 
economize,  —  he  would,  by  "  the  beard  of  his 
father,"  he  said  to  himself  with  a  grim  smile. 

The  letter  was  posted  that  evening,  and  led 
to  consequences  far  different  from  the  ones  he 
had  looked  for. 

Philippe  banished  it  as  well  as  he  could  from 
his  mind  during  the  next  fortnight,  when  he 
might  expect  a  cable  in  reply  to  it ;  but  in  the 
meantime,  ho,  for  a  merry  life  ! 

One  cold,  cheerless  afternoon  in  November  the 
countess  was  sitting  with  Sylvia  in  her  salon. 
Outside  the  leaves  had  fallen,  and  all  was  dull 


A    TRANSATLANTIC    CHATELAINE.          309 

and  sodden-looking1,  but  within,  the  trees  on  the 
tapestry  were  forever  green,  and  the  strange  ima 
ginary  beasts  of  fable-lore  pictured  there  were 
eternally  innocent  in  a  tropical  clime.  Sylvia 
had  chosen  the  older  wing  for  herself,  and  her 
rooms  were  on  the  ground-floor  on  the  court  side, 
but  twenty  feet  or  more  above  the  terrace  on 
which  the  cedar  stood,  so  that  she  cowld  see  into 
its  very  heart.  The  apartment  was  supposed  to 
be  the  one  occupied  by  Francois  I.  on  his  first 
visit,  and  Sylvia  had  chosen  it  partly  from  the 
association,  and  because  the  rooms  were  large 
and  exquisitely  proportioned  ;  also  somewhat  on 
account  of  the  conveniences  they  boasted. 

In  good  weather  it  was  but  a  step  across  the 
court  to  the  Renaissance  wing,  where  the  older 
countess  lived,  and  where  the  family  met  at 
meals.  When  it  rained,  there  were  two  ways  of 
reaching  it  under  shelter,  either  by  going  up  a 
flight  of  stairs  which  took  one  through  a  covered 
passage  over  the  entrance  arch,  and  down  again, 
keeping  on  by  the  kitchens  and  offices  ;  or  by 
descending  a  winding  stair  in  the  wall,  that  went 
directly  from  Sylvia's  bedroom  to  a  tunneled 
way  leading  to  the  chapel  in  the  rock.  A  mod 
ern  housebuilder  would  hold  up  his  hands  in 
despair  over  such  clumsy  exits  and  entrances, 
but  one  must  suffer  a  few  inconveniences  if  one 
lives  in  an  historic  chateau. 


310  A    TRANSATLANTIC    CHATELAINE. 

Sylvia  had  grown  into  the  old  wing,  with  all 
its  memories.  She  had  gathered  her  belong 
ings  about  her,  imparting  to  the  grim  chambers 
a  touch  of  modern  life,  and  the  surroundings  of 
a  woman  who  thought  and  read,  and  kept  up 
with  the  march  of  the  day.  Reviews  and  new 
publications  lay  on  the  tables ;  a  portfolio  of 
photographs  from  the  modern  masters  shoul 
dered  another  where  the  older  schools  were  rep 
resented  ;  a  package  of  music,  just  sent  from 
Paris,  and  not  yet  opened,  lay  on  the  piano ; 
but  with  it  all  the  unconquerable  essence  of  the 
past  dominated  the  atmosphere  of  the  salon. 

This  afternoon,  the  two  women  were  seated 
with  their  work,  talking  in  the  snatchy  way  that 
people  fall  into  when  they  live  together.  Sud 
denly  Madame  de  La  Roche  folded  her  knit 
ting  up  in  a  neat  roll,  and  said  :  "  Philippe  is 
very  restless  when  he  stays  at  home.  He  is 
worrying  me  to  send  away  Pierre." 

Sylvia  was  too  much  on  her  guard  with  her 
self  to  take  any  active  part  in  the  occasional  dis 
cussions  between  Philippe  and  his  mother.  It  is 
only  really  loving  wives  who  feel  the  necessary 
security  that  permits  freedom  of  speech  con 
cerning  their  husbands.  So  she  said  in  rather 
a  non-committal  tone,  "  What  fault  does  he  find 
with  the  poor  old  fellow  ?  " 

As  she  spoke  Philippe  strolled  into  the  room, 


A    TRANSATLANTIC    CHATELAINE.  311 

with  the  out-of-place  manner  men  adopt  when 
they  find  themselves  cut  off  from  their  usual  oc 
cupations.  There  was  no  deer  hunt  that  day  ; 
an  unexpected  interval  had  come  between  two 
visits  ;  and  altogether  he  was  ill  at  ease.  It  did 
not  add  to  his  amiability  to  bear  the  constant 
wonder  in  his  mind  if  Sylvia's  man  of  busi 
ness  would  cable  promptly.  He  had  hoped  for 
an  answer  the  day  before,  but  had  been  disap 
pointed. 

"  What  poor  old  fellow  ?  What  are  you  talk 
ing  about  ?  "  he  asked,  opening-  a  review,  and 
running  his  eye  over  the  contents. 

No  one  answered  for  a  moment,  —  Sylvia,  be 
cause  it  was  not  her  wish  to  say  anything  that 
might  lead  to  a  dispute,  and  his  mother  because 
she  would  have  preferred  to  put  off  the  inevit 
able  hour  of  discussion  to  some  day  when  Phi 
lippe  would  be  in  an  easier  humor.  If  she  had 
drawn  his  attention  away  by  speaking  of  some 
other  interest,  he  would  probably  have  forgotten 
the  whole  matter  ;  but  the  entire  silence  reached 
his  consciousness  through  his  desultory  reading, 
and  throwing  the  magazine  down  on  the  table, 
he  repeated  sharply  :  — 

"  Don't  you  mean  to  tell  me  who  it  is  you  are 
pitying  ?  " 

"  Sylvia  and  I  were  talking  about  Pierre,  and 
I  was  telling  her  of  your  discontent  with  him,"  at 


312          .1    TRANSATLANTIC    CHATELAINE. 

last  replied  the  countess,  once  more  undoing  her 
roll  of  work,  and  beginning  to  ply  her  needles. 
She  knew  from  experience  that  the  matter  would 
have  to  be  fought  out  now,  and  she  was  well 
aware  of  Philippe's  tenacity  regarding  his  own 
wishes. 

Sylvia  turned  her  head  away,  looked  out  at 
the  dreary  landscape,  and  wished  that  they 
would  carry  their  domestic  affairs  somewhere 
else.  She  hated  difference  of  opinion,  and  had 
a  nervous  shrinking  lest  she  might  be  appealed 
to  by  one  or  the  other. 

"  Discontent !  That 's  a  mild  way  of  putting 
it !  The  fact  is  that  he  is  impossible.  It  is  ab 
surd  to  think  of  having  a  well-run  establishment 
with  him  for  butler." 

"  Your  father  was  known  as  one  of  the  most 
particular  men  of  his  day,  and  he  trained  Pierre. 
lie  found  him  satisfactory." 

"  So  he  probably  found  the  bonnet  you  wore 
on  your  wedding  trip  enchanting,  as  it  un 
doubtedly  was ;  but  how  would  it  look  to- 
day?" 

"Ah,  Philippe,  you  should  not  speak  of  flesh 
and  blood  as  you  do  of  inanimate  objects.  Have 
you  no  gratitude  for  Pierre,  when  you  remember 
that  he  saved  your  life  when  you  were  a  baby  ?  " 

"  There  's  always  been  a  question  in  my  mind 
as  to  how  long  we  should  be  slaves  to  gratitude. 


A    TRANSATLANTIC    CHATELAINE.  313 

He  saved  my  life  —  good ;  he  risked  being  bitten 
by  a  dog  who  was  supposed  to  be  mad  —  good 
again.  In  return  he  was  rewarded  by  you  and 
my  father,  he  was  held  up  to  me  as  my  pre 
server  ;  and  this  little  game  has  been  played  for 
nearly  thirty  years.  It 's  time  to  stop  it,  and 
cry  quits.  I  shall  provide  for  him,  give  him  a 
cottage  in  the  village,  and  a  pension." 

Madame  de  La  Roche  could  look  very  severe 
when  she  was  roused.  Her  son's  words  stung 
her,  and  she  said  firmly :  — 

"  It  is  not  agreeable  to  me  to  take  my  stand  as 
the  actual  owner  of  the  chateau  ;  but  I  am  driven 
to  say  with  firmness  that  it  is  my  wish  to  keep 
Pierre,  either  to  the  end  of  his,  or  of  my,  life." 

Philippe  looked  at  his  mother.  He  knew 
quite  well  that  her  will  equaled  his  when  she 
had  any  object  to  fight  for,  and  the  faint  color 
that  had  crept  into  her  cheeks,  together  with 
her  flashing  eyes,  warned  him  that  he  must  draw 
back.  So  he  came  down  from  his  high  horse, 
and  aired  his  grievances. 

"  I  don't  think  that  I  'm  very  demanding,  my 
dear  mother  ;  just  listen  to  the  kind  of  thing 
his  parsimony  makes  him  do  all  the  time.  Night 
before  last  when  I  had  those  fellows  at  dinner, 
I  had  told  Marcel  to  ice  some  champagne.  It 
is  some  wine  I  am  trying,  and  I  wanted  it  that 
night  surely.  Well,  round  toddled  the  old  miser, 


314          A    TRANSATLANTIC    CHATELAINE. 

filling  the  glasses  with  rather  an  unusual  gener 
osity.  When  I  tasted  the  stuff,  I  saw  at  once 
there  had  been  some  mistake.  So  I  whispered 
to  him,  '  You  've  got  the  wrong  bottle.'  '  Oh, 
no,  Monsieur  le  comte,  there  are  only  very 
young  gentlemen  here  to-night,  who  can't  tell 
good  wine  from  bad,  and  the  other  cost  so  much 
money  that  I  sent  to  the  grocer's  for  this  tisane 
in  its  place.  It  is  nice  and  cold,  and  no  one  but 
Monsieur  le  comte  can  tell  the  difference.'  I 
was  angry  enough  at  that,  and  told  him  to  serve 
it  in  the  servants'  hall,  and  give  us  the  other. 
He  trotted  off,  and  in  a  moment  changed  the 
glasses  and  poured  out  from  another  bottle  of 
tisane  under  my  very  nose  !  Now  do  you  blame 
me,  when  I  find  fault?" 

Sylvia  had  been  giving  rather  a  languid  atten 
tion  to  the  conversation,  until  Philippe  poured 
out  his  woes  about  the  champagne.  Then  the 
comic  side  of  the  story  struck  her  :  the  image 
of  her  autocratic  husband  being  forced  to  econ 
omize  against  his  will  brought  an  involuntary 
smile  to  her  lips,  and  unfortunately  she  caught 
the  countess's  eye  at  the  moment.  The  smile 
became  more  pronounced,  and  suddenly  they 
both  burst  into  uncontrollable  laughter.  The 
knowledge  that  Philippe  was  being  made  justly 
indignant  by  their  behavior  only  made  them  the 
more  helpless. 


.4    TRANSATLANTIC   CHATELAINE.          315 

"  It  is  something-  to  be  grateful  for  that  I  have 
found  a  way  to  rouse  some  interest  in  me,"  he 
said,  throwing  a  furious  glance  at  his  wife, 
which  sobered  her  in  a  second.  He  was  going 
on,  when  the  door  opened,  and  the  cause  of  the 
interview  came  into  the  room,  bearing  two  blue 
envelopes  on  a  tray. 

"  For  Monsieur  le  comte,  and  to  one  there  is 
an  answer,"  he  said. 

Philippe  forced  himself  to  take  them  quietly, 
and  to  open  them  with  deliberation  ;  but  he 
could  not  control  the  angry  frown  that  crossed 
his  brow  as  he  read  the  first.  It  was  from  Syl 
via's  man  of  business,  and  the  three  curt  words 
struck  him  as  an  insult,  —  "  Wife's  signature 
necessary." 

He  drew  his  hand  down  over  his  mouth,  as  he 
stood  staring  at  the  short  sentence.  It  was  a 
check,  and  a  most  unpleasing  one. 

Pierre,  who  had  been  watching  him  with  the 
undisguised  interest  of  an  old  and  somewhat 
spoiled  servant,  interposed  :  "  If  Monsieur  le 
comte  will  read  the  other  dispatch  he  can  tell 
if  there  be  an  answer.  I  don't  hold  with  the 
idle  messenger  waiting  long  in  the  kitchen  :  he 
will  be  sure  to  drink  his  weight  in  good  wine." 

"  Send  him  to  the  hall,  and  tell  him  I  will  see 
him  myself,"  replied  Philippe,  who  had  by  this 
time  read  the  second  message,  —  a  repetition  of 


316          A    TRANSATLANTIC    CHATELAINE. 

the  almost  daily  demands  for  payment  from  one 
of  the  Jewish  brethren,  and  as  it  was  a  trifle 
threatening  in  its  form,  he  decided  to  reply.  As 
he  spoke  to  the  old  butler,  lie  seated  himself  at 
Sylvia's  writing-table,  and  pulling  open  a  drawer, 
took  out  a  sheet  of  note  paper,  with  the  family 
crest  and  coronet  stamped  in  gold.  But  before 
he  had  time  to  sully  the  fresh  page  with  his  pen, 
Pierre  had  gently  removed  it. 

"  Monsieur  le  comte  will  pardon  me.  Here 
is  a  bit  of  paper  that  will  do  well  enough  for 
a  telegraph  message.  I  save  odd  sheets  for 
that." 

Without  giving  Philippe  time  to  answer,  he 
placed  before  him  the  blank  side  of  a  faire-part, 
the  wide  black  edge  showing  what  gloomy  mes 
sage  had  been  its  errand.  Both  the  watching 
women  held  their  breath  :  they  knew  that  Pierre 
had  risked  a  violent  reproof,  and  both  dreaded 
the  outburst  that  they  expected.  But  Philippe 
was  too  much  engrossed  in  his  reflections  to 
notice  the  interference.  He  sat  with  his  pen 
balanced  for  a  short  time,  and  then  dashed  off 
a  few  words  ;  after  which  he  rose  and  left  the 
room  without  speaking. 

"  Pierre  really  is  aggravating.  I  will  go  and 
give  him  a  lecture,"  said  Madame  de  La  Koche, 
following  after  her  son. 

Sylvia  leant  her  head  against  the  window  with 


A    TRANSATLANTIC    CHATELAINE.  317 

a  sigh.  The  short-lived  laughter  had  left  her 
depressed.  She  scorned  the  mind  that  would 
trouble  itself  over  such  trivialities,  not  giving 
Philippe  any  credit  for  his  power  of  organiza 
tion,  and  failing  to  find  sympathy  with  him 
when  he  was  annoyed  by  details.  She  was  in 
the  same  listless  attitude  when  he  returned,  and 
seating  himself  by  the  fire,  again  opened  the 
review  that  he  had  thrown  on  the  table.  He 
knew  that  before  him  lay  a  task.  The  business 
like  brevity  of  that  dispatch  irritated  him ;  con 
found  the  canaille  who  dared  to  send  him  such 
a  message.  The  little  episode  with  Pierre,  too, 
unimportant  in  itself,  added  a  sting  and  increased 
his  ill  humor.  His  eye  ran  down  one  page  after 
another,  and  still  he  pondered  as  to  the  best 
way  of  opening  the  subject  to  his  wife.  At  last 
a  way  presented  itself  to  him.  He  rose,  and 
lighted  a  cigarette  ;  then  he  said  in  an  uncon 
cerned  manner  :  — 

"  By  the  way,  Sylvia,  I  wish  you  'd  write  a 
line  to  your  man  there  in  Boston,  telling  him 
that  you  would  like  the  January  interest  ad 
vanced  as  soon  as  he  conveniently  can." 

When  he  first  spoke,  she  turned  her  head 
from  the  window,  where  she  had  been  looking 
on  the  cedar  as  one  looks  at  a  friend,  and  her 
whole  face  took  on  an  altered  expression :  it 
grew  cold  and  hard. 


318          A    TRANSATLANTIC   CHATELAINE. 

"  Is  it  possible  that  you  have  already  spent  all 
the  July  income  ?  " 

"Yes.  The  kennels  have  cost  a  deuced  lot 
more  than  I  expected  ;  but  then  it 's  true  that  I 
pushed  matters,  and  it  is  the  first  outlay  that 
takes  the  most  money.  There  will  be  nothing 
so  heavy  again." 

"  I  dislike  to  trouble  Mr.  Henderson.  I 
promised  him  that  I  would  not  make  any  change 
in  the  existing  arrangements  unless  it  was  some 
thing  serious.  I  would  rather  wait  until  Jan 
uary." 

"  It  is  not  a  question  of  what  you  may  or  may 
not  prefer.  The  money  is  necessary  to  me,  and 
at  once.  Do  you  understand  ?  " 

"  There  is  nothing  complicated  in  the  state 
ment." 

"  I  don't  suppose  that  you  care  to  force  me 
to  order  you  to  send  for  it  ?  " 

There  was  an  insolent  arrogance  in  his  voice 
that  stung  Sylvia ;  for  the  first  time  she  thought 
of  her  conduct  in  giving  up  her  entire  income  to 
her  husband  as  a  generous  action.  Up  to  this 
moment  it  had  seemed  but  the  natural  thing  to 
do.  Her  eyes  threw  him  a  quick  flash  of  scorn, 
as  she  replied  quietly  :  — 

"  If  you  do,  I  am  afraid  that  I  shall  disobey." 

Philippe  walked  to  the  bell-rope,  and  gave  it 
a  violent  pull.  He  knew  that  he  could  not  force 


A    TRANSATLANTIC    CHATELAINE.          319 

her  to  do  as  he  wished,  and  he  said  to  himself 
that  he  had  set  about  the  matter  in  the  wrong 
way.  His  idea  had  been  that  it  was  best  to 
play  a  game  of  bluff,  and  act  as  if  he  were  but 
demanding  his  right ;  but  he  now  saw  that  he 
must  alter  his  tactics  somewhat  to  gain  his  wife. 
The  thought  galled  him.  It  was  infuriating  to 
feel  that  he  must  bend  before  a  woman,  but  his 
need  was  so  urgent  that  he  controlled  his  anger 
for  the  time. 

There  was  nothing  more  said  until  a  footman 
answered  the  bell.  Philippe  ordered  his  horse 
at  once,  and  when  the  man  had  left  the  room,  he 
turned  again  to  Sylvia. 

"  That  is  your  final  decision,  then  ?  " 

"  It  is,"  she  answered,  her  head  bent  over  the 
white  wool  in  her  hands. 

The  noise  made  by  the  violent  slam  given  to 
the  door  told  her  that  she  was  alone.  Alone, 
indeed !  The  very  hand  that  should  have  been 
the  first  to  protect  her  was  the  one  to  pilfer  her. 
Every  soul  is  to  a  large  extent  isolated ;  but 
Sylvia's  position  was  peculiarly  solitary.  She 
felt  absolutely  sure  of  no  one.  She  had  no 
specific  suspicions  against  her  husband,  but  her 
woman's  instinct  told  her  that  he  was  not  open 
with  her. 

A  tormenting  thought,  that  had  often  been 
with  her  of  late,  came  into  her  mind,  —  the 


320          A    TRANSATLANTIC    CHATELAINE. 

dread  that  if  she  died,  Maurice  would  never 
know  that  she  had  been  deceived ;  that  he  would 
always  think  of  her  as  a  woman  of  paltry  ambi 
tion  and  violent  temper.  A  vague  wonder  came 
to  her,  if  she  should  be  able  after  this  life  to 
vindicate  herself  in  his  eyes  ?  But  it  glided 
away,  leaving  the  same  chill  fear  behind. 

She  had  not  moved  since  Philippe  left  her  ; 
but  sat  watching  with  heedless  eyes  a  steely  blue 
cloud,  burdened  with  hail,  that  was  passing  up 
the  valley.  The  stones  falling  from  it  bounded 
on  the  hard  ground,  while  the  trees  swayed  and 
complained  in  the  rough  wind,  that  showed  them 
scant  ceremony,  and  played  rude  games  with  the 
reluctant,  fallen  leaves,  urging  them  to  assume 
an  air  of  gayety,  whirling  and  dancing  about, 
which  their  sad-colored  habits  denied. 

The  biting  cold  brought  by  the  shower  struck 
through  the  small  leaded  panes  of  glass.  Sylvia 
shivered  and  went  to  the  fire.  As  she  stood 
there  the  cloud  passed  over,  and  a  ray  of  low 
sunlight  struggled  into  the  room  through  the 
boughs  of  the  cedar.  A  sudden  idea  came  to 
her.  She  rang  the  bell  and  ordered  her  close 
carriage  at  once.  She  would  see  Monsieur 
Regnier  before  night ;  a  talk  with  him  always 
did  her  good,  and  —  she  blushed  faintly  as 
she  thought,  "  I  shall  see  his  picture,  too." 

It  was    dusk    by  the    time    she    reached    La 


A    TRANSATLANTIC    CHATELAINE.         321 

Source,  and  the  warm  glow  of  the  library  fire 
was  doubly  grateful  after  the  chill  left  in  the 
air  by  the  recent  hailstorm.  Monsieur  Regnier 
was  sitting  before  it,  the  shaded  light  of  his 
reading-lamp  on  the  table  by  his  side  leaving 
the  rest  of  the  long  room  in  obscurity.  As 
Sylvia  walked  in  unannounced,  she  saw  the 
doubtful  expression  in  his  face  change  to  a  look 
of  welcome  ;  he  rose  and  came  towards  her  with 
both  hands  out. 

"  I  could  not  see,  but  I  am  sure  that  it  is  my 
little  chatelaine,"  he  said.  "  This  is  very  good 
of  you.  I  am  all  alone,  you  know,  and  I  am  in 
need  of  sympathy  this  evening." 

"  Let  me  take  off  my  hat  and  gloves,"  said 
Sylvia,  laying  them  aside.  "  When  I  come 
here  I  like  to  make  believe  that  it  is  home,  and 
that  I  am  going  to  stay.  There,  I  will  keep  my 
furs  round  me,  for  I  am  chilly." 

She  took  a  chair  that  he  drew  near  the  fire 
for  her  ;  turning  it  a  little,  so  as  to  see  Maurice's 
picture,  which  was  under  the  lamp,  as  if  his 
father  had  been  looking  at  it. 

Monsieur  Regnier  took  up  two  letters.  "  I 
have  been  much  stirred  by  my  afternoon's  mail," 
he  began  ;  "  I  will  read  you  what  my  boy  wrote 
me."  He  sat  quite  still  for  a  moment,  running 
his  eye  over  the  page  ;  then  he  read :  — 


322          A    TRANSATLANTIC    CHATELAINE. 

TLEMCEN,  November  12,  1869. 

MY  DEAR  FATHER,  —  I  am  scratching-  off  this 
line  to  follow  my  Wednesday's  letter,  because  I 
am  afraid  — 

His  voice,  which  had  trembled  at  first,  died 
quite  away.  He  shook  his  head  impatiently, 
and  handed  the  letter  to  Sylvia.  "  There  !  you 
will  have  to  read  it  yourself ;  I  'm  an  old  fool," 
he  said  brokenly. 

She  took  it  eagerly,  and  bending  her  head 
went  on  to  herself  :  — 

—  because  I  am  afraid  you  may  hear  a  gar 
bled  account  of  a  little  brush  I  had  this  after 
noon  with  some  natives,  and  will  be  anxious. 
Some  of  these  devils  had  captured  a  Sister 
of  Mercy,  a  woman  who  spends  her  life  trying 
to  help  mankind,  in  marked  contrast  to  the 
mass  of  her  sex,  and  I  got  permission  to  go 
to  her  rescue.  I  was  011  fire  to  begin  with, 
thinking  of  her  possible  fate,  and  when  I  came 
to  close  quarters  with  the  beggars  I  grew  mad 
with  the  fighting  fever,  and  felt  like  a  bull-dog 
in  the  ring.  I  believe  I  even  growled,  I  was  so 
imbued  with  the  spirit  of  one !  My  men  acted 
like  trumps.  They  were  bull-doggy,  too,  and 
long  before  I  had  any  idea  that  we  were  going 
to  be  victorious,  the  dirty  curs  of  Arabs  turned 


A    TRANSATLANTIC    CHATELAINE.         323 

tail,  and  left  me  with  a  good  deal  of  the  feeling 
one  has  going  downstairs  in  the  dark,  when  he 
thinks  there  is  another  step,  and  there  is  n't.  I 
must  confess  to  being  disappointed  that  it  was 
all  over.  We  came  back  with  our  prize,  and 
now  I  am  going  to  bed.  I  hope  that  I  am  too 
tired  to  dream  of  dear  old  La  Source.  I  am 
there  in  dreams  half  the  night,  generally.  It  is 
your  fault  for  being  such  a  father  that  it  is  im 
possible  not  to  love  you  and  home  too  much. 

Embrace  my  sister  for  me,  and  give  my  love 
to  her  children.  • 

I  clasp  your  hand,  my  dear  father,  and  am 
your  dutiful  son,  MAUEICE. 

Monsieur  Regnier  had  watched  Sylvia  as  she 
read,  and  at  any  other  time  would  have  felt 
some  surprise  at  seeing  the  waves  of  emotion 
that  swept  across  her  face ;  but  he  was  so  stirred 
himself  that  it  seemed  only  natural  to  him. 
When  he  saw  that  she  had  read  the  last  word, 
he  handed  her  the  second  letter,  saying :  — 

"  lie  may  treat  it  as  a  joke,  but  his  superior 
officers  don't." 

TLEMCEN,  November  12,  1869. 

MONSIEUR,  —  It  is  my  pleasure  as  well  as  my 
duty  to  inform  you  of  the  gallant  behavior  of 
your  son,  Captain  Maurice  Regnier,  to-day  in  a 
sharp  encounter  with  a  large  force  of  natives. 


324          A    TRANSATLANTIC    CHATELAINE. 

The  expedition  was  undertaken  by  him  at  his 
own  request,  from  a  sentiment  of  humanity 
which  does  him  credit.  He  cut  his  way  through 
fearful  odds,  and  saved  a  Sister  of  Mercy  from 
a  fate  worse  than  death.  It  would  have  made 
you  young  again  to  hear  our  men  cheer  him  on 
his  return.  He  is  the  idol  of  the  regiment,  not 
only  for  this,  but  for  a  dozen  exploits  almost  its 
equal.  The  foregoing  sentences  I  write  as  his 
commanding  officer ;  the  following  ones  as  his 
friend,  and  I  fear  they  may  pain  you.  He  is  a 
changed  man  since  his  return  to  us  from  his 
furlough  a  year  ago.  He  has  something  on  his 
mind,  —  something  that  has  made  him  hard  and 
bitter.  He  takes  every  chance  to  risk  his  life  ; 
he  seeks  every  privation.  One  would  think  he 
wished  to  die,  provided  the  end  were  glorious. 
Has  he  had  any  disappointment?  Is  he  in  debt? 
Seek  it  out  at  once.  Find  out  the  cause,  and 
remove  it,  for  the  good  of  France,  which  cannot 
afford  to  lose  him ;  for  your  own  good ;  for  his 
own  life ! 

Permit  me  to  congratulate  you  on  being  the 
father  of  such  a  son,  and  accept,  monsieur,  the 
most  sincere  expression  of  my  regards. 

ANDRE  DE  CLEKMONT. 

As  Sylvia  read  the  last  part  of  this  letter  the 
color  surged  to  her  face,  and  died  away  leaving 


A  TRANSATLANTIC  CHATELAINE.    325 

it  paler  than  before ;  for  a  moment  her  breast 
rose  and  fell  convulsively,  and  then  with  a  sob 
that  seemed  to  wrench  her  very  soul  she  dropped 
on  her  knees,  burying  her  head  on  the  arm  of 
Monsieur  Regnier's  chair. 

"Oh,  how  can  I  bear  it?  how  can  I  bear 
it?"  she  gasped.  "  I  love  him,  and  I  am  so 
powerless.  It  is  my  punishment,  for  I  thought 
myself  stronger  than  fate  ;  now  I  see  my  weak 
ness." 

"  My  child,  my  dear  child !  "  exclaimed  Mon 
sieur  Regnier,  alarmed  by  her  emotion ;  this 
woman,  always  so  self-controlled  even  when  her 
eyes  contradicted  her  gay  words  and  smiling 
lips,  now  in  such  an  agony  of  self-abandonment, 
frightened  him.  Was  she  going  mad  ?  What 
did  she  know  about  Maurice  ?  He  laid  his  hand 
gently  on  her  hair  and  said:  "  Tell  me  all;  I  can 
understand  ;  but  take  your  own  time  —  don't 
hurry." 

For  a  moment  or  two  she  knelt  there,  the 
painful  sobs  growing  fainter ;  then  she  lifted 
her  head  and  looked  at  him.  •  In  spite  of  the 
traces  of  tears  and  marks  of  suffering,  her  face 
seemed  years  younger  than  the  one  which  he 
had  grown  to  love ;  the  subtle,  illusive  expres 
sion  with  the  strange  fascination  had  disap 
peared,  and  there  was  a  new,  child-like  honesty 
in  her  eyes. 


326          A    TRANSATLANTIC   CHATELAINE. 

"  I  never,  even  to  myself,"  she*  began,  "  ac 
knowledged  that  I  loved  Maurice ;  I  did  not 
want  to ;  I  dreaded  the  power  of  love  ;  I  had 
seen  too  much  of  its  havoc ;  but  I  half  promised 
to  marry  him  after  a  week's  thought.  He  went 
away,  and  they  lied  to  me  about  him.  They 
told  me  —  they  made  me  think  —  ah,  I  cannot 
tell  you  what  they  said,  but  I  believed  them  — 
God  forgive  me  !  I  sent  him  away  with  insults. 
I  can  see  now  that  it  was  my  love  for  him  that 
made  me  so  violent,  so  mad  with  rage.  But  I 
never  faced  it  until  I  came  here,  and  heard  the 
truth  from  the  countess.  Maurice  was  always 
true.  At  first  that  was  enough  for  me  ;  I  only 
cared  to  think  of  that  —  but  now,  there  is  an 
other  thought  —  I  must  tell  you." 

"  Go  on,  my  child,"  said  Monsieur  Regnier, 
as  her  voice  died  away.  His  tone  encouraged  her. 
He  was  beginning  to  understand  ;  the  memory 
of  Maurice's  hopes  at  the  time  when  he  came 
home  to  obtain  money  for  Philippe ;  the  de 
spairing  telegram  that  followed  quick  on  the 
heels  of  his  departure  ;  the  gloomy  mystery  in 
which  the  affair  had  been  shrouded,  —  all  began 
to  explain  itself  to  the  father's  mind. 

"  This  is  it,"  she  continued  ;  "December  will 
be  here  soon,  and  it  is  possible  that  I  may  not 
live  through  it.  At  times  I  hope  I  shall  not: 
my  life  is  a  useless  one  ;  if  I  leave  a  child  to 


A    TRANSATLANTIC    CHATELAINE.  327 

inherit  the  name,  and  money  to  build  up  the  old 
place  again,  I  shall  have  served  my  purpose  in 
the  world.  But  oh,  I  cannot,  I  will  not  die  and 
leave  Maurice  with  a  memory  of  a  cold,  hard, 
ambitious  woman.  If  I  live,  it  is  for  the  best 
that  he  should  think  of  me  so ;  but  if  I  die,  tell 
him  the  truth  —  dear,  dear  friend,  take  that  stain 
away  from  me." 

The  old  man  was  moved  deeply  ;  pity  for  the 
woman  before  him,  heart-rending  sympathy  for 
his  brave  boy  bearing  his  lot  in  silence,  for  a 
moment  prevented  him  from  speaking.  He 
gently  raised  Sylvia,  and  made  her  sit  in  a  large 
chair ;  she  leaned  back,  the  simple,  uncompli 
cated  expression  deepening. 

"  I  promise  you,  my  dear,"  he  said  at  length, 
"  that  Maurice  shall  know  the  truth.  It  is  bet 
ter  for  both  ;  a  deception  can  never  work  for 
good.  That  is  not  what  troubles  me ;  it  is  the 
way  you  must  face  your  feeling  for  him.  You 
do  not  speak  of  it  as  a  sin  —  you  do  not  seem  to 
regard  it  as  a  wrong  against  Philippe." 

Her  face  hardened. 

"  I  have  given  my  husband  all  that  he  married 
me  for.  He  is  master  of  my  entire  income  ;  he 
is  content." 

Monsieur  Regnier  leant  forward,  and  placed 
his  hands  on  hers  ;  his  touch  seemed  to  calm  the 
burst  of  scorn  called  up  by  Philippe's  name. 


328  .4    TRANSATLANTIC    CHATELAINE. 

"  You  cannot  stop  there,"  he  said  impressively ; 
"  you  will  be,  if  you  live,  the  mother  of  his  child  ; 
you  have  linked  yourself  in  a  chain  that  has 
continued  for  centuries ;  you  have  no  right  to 
bring  the  shadow  of  evil  on  the  family  you  have 
entered.  It  is  not  merely  to  your  husband  that 
you  owe  fidelity,  it  is  to  his  ancestors  and  to  his 
descendants.  When  you,  a  stranger  of  different 
land  and  creed,  married  a  French  noble,  you 
threw  away  your  birthright  for  a  coronet.  It 
was  a  barter,  your  wealth  against  his  name.  If 
you  are  a  woman  of  honor  you  will  fulfill  your 
share  of  the  contract ;  you  will  try  to  satisfy 
yourself  by  serving  to  build  up  a  great  name, 
nearly  extinct ;  you  will  so  live  that  when  you 
die  you  may  feel  that  your  example  and  influ 
ence  have  counteracted  the  evils  of  inheritance, 
and  your  children  will  be  nobler  and  sturdier 
than  their  forefathers." 

"  Must  I  then  renounce  all  happiness,"  said 
Sylvia  piteously,  "  and  feel  that  my  freedom  is 
lost  forever  ?  It  is  fearful." 

u  Ah,  poor  little  girl,"  said  Monsieur  Regnier, 
"  that  is  a  consideration  that  never  presents  it 
self  beforehand.  You  wanted  to  be  a  countess 
or  a  duchess ;  you  thought  that  it  would  mean  a 
life  just  as  much  your  own  as  the  years  behind 
you,  only  with  the  glitter  of  rank  added  ;  no  one 
told  you  that  your  self  was  of  no  more  conse- 


.1    TRANSATLANTIC    CHATELAINE.         329 

quence  as  an  individual  than  that  of  a  high-bred 
mare,  bought  by  the  breeder  to  improve  his 
stable.  This  sounds  brutal,  but  it  is  the  truth, 
and  I  am  so  little  philosophic  that  I  resent  it 
bitterly ;  and  if  I  had  my  way  every  girl  whose 
mother  brings  her  from  abroad  in  search  of  a 
title  should  be  taught  it.  The  old  world  is  ac 
customed  to  it,  and  looks  for  nothing  better  as  a 
rule ;  but  these  poor,  new  world  children  make 
my  heart  bleed  with  their  innocent  arrogance." 

This  was  an  old  grievance,  and  he  spoke 
strongly ;  she  heard  his  words,  but  her  past 
emotion  prevented  her  from  clearly  understand 
ing  them  ;  besides,  a  new  feeling  was  at  work. 
She  spoke  abruptly. 

"  Something  very  strange  has  happened  to  me 
to-day ;  I  have  found  myself  the  real  being,  for 
the  first  time  in  my  life.  I  seem  to  have  gone 
back,  and  become  a  little  girl  again.  I  have 
never  been  real,  even  to  my  own  soul.  I  have 
always  hidden  my  true  feelings  until  it  has  be 
come  a  second  nature.  I  think  Dick  was  the 
only  person  I  ever  spoke  frankly  to  until  now. 
I  have  told  myself  that  love  was  a  curse,  a  blight, 
for  so  long  that  I  thought  I  believed  it ;  but 
since  I  came  here,  and  heard  about  Maurice, 
suddenly  I  am  another  person." 

She  spoke  half  to  herself,  for  the  first  time 
noticing  a  change  that  had  been  gradually  tak- 


330  A    TRANSATLANTIC    CHATELAINE. 

ing  place  in  her  since  the  day  when  her  heart 
had  stirred,  faintly  but  decisively,  at  Maurice's 
words  of  love ;  her  emotional  nature  had  since 
then  grown  slowly  stronger,  until  at  the  first  op 
portunity  it  dominated  her  with  an  imperious 
force.  Monsieur  Regnier  saw  that  she  was  over 
excited  by  what  had  gone  before,  and  endeav 
ored  to  calm  both  her  and  his  own  feelings. 
She  did  not  stay  long,  for  she  wished  to  be  alone 
with  this  new,  wondrous  personality  which  inter 
ested  her  deeply,  and  Monsieur  Regnier,  moved 
and  saddened,  wrapped  her  furs  about  her,  and 
watched  the  lamps  of  her  carriage  as  it  rolled 
down  the  avenue  in  the  November  dusk.  But 
his  thoughts  of  her  died  away  with  the  sound  of 
the  horse's  rapid  trot,  and  as  he  seated  himself 
once  more  in  his  silent  room,  it  was  to  his  boy, 
his  brave  Maurice,  who  was  showing  a  grim  de 
termination  to  fight  down  his  sorrow,  that  his 
mind  turned. 

"  And  he  can  write  me  merry,  jesting  letters 
when  his  heart  is  breaking  for  her.  May  God 
help  him,  for  she  is  more  worthy  of  his  love  than 
most  women,"  said  the  sorrowing  father  as  he 
carefully  smoothed  the  colonel's  letter,  which 
Sylvia  in  her  burst  of  grief  had  crushed. 

She,  in  the  mean  time,  leaning  back  against 
the  cushions,  forgot  her  past,  her  future,  her 
husband,  even  Maurice,  and  became  absorbed  in 
herself. 


A    TRANSATLANTIC    CHATELAINE.         331 

"  I  nevei1  thought  of  myself  before,"  she  pon 
dered.  "  I  have  thought  of  what  I  should  do, 
where  I  should  be,  what  might  happen  to  me, 
but  never  of  me  —  Why,  I  am  a  woman  ;  I  am 
real ;  I  am  like  those  loving,  tender,  heroic  girls 
I  have  loved  and  envied  when  I  read  about  them, 
but  I  never  dreamed  of  having  feelings  like 

o  o 

theirs.  I  could  be  a  Viola  ;  I  could  be  my  duke's 
page,  and  find  content  in  serving  him ;  I  would 
carry  his  messages  of  love  —  Oh,  no,  no,  never  ! 
I  would  kill  Olivia  first !  I  would  not  let  him 
love  her.  I  would  compel  him  to  see  through 
my  disguise.  lie  could  not  help  feeling  the  air 
throb  against  his  cheek  as  my  heart  beat,  and  it 
would  bring  him  to  my  feet.  O  Maurice,  my 
Maurice,  are  you  thinking  of  me  to-night  ?  Do 
you  know  "  —  A  shudder  crept  over  her.  "  I 
am  a  link  —  only  a  link  in  a  great  chain.  I  am 
responsible  to  my  husband  and  his  house.  Mon 
sieur  Regnier  said  so.  O  God,  why  did  you  send 
me  feeling  when  it  has  become  a  sin  ?  Why 
did  no  one,  no  one  ever  tell  me  what  love  meant  ? 
It  is  fate,  though  I  thought  that  I  had  conquered 
it  —  instead  I  am  doubly  beaten." 

She  sat,  her  eyes  closed,  rigid  in  her  corner. 
She  felt  that  she  was  capable  of  anything, 
everything,  for  Maurice's  sake,  except  giving 
him  up,  and  that  was  what  pride,  honor,  and 
womanliness  imperatively  called  her  to  do.  She 


332  A    TRANSATLANTIC    CHATELAINE. 

fought  her  battle  out  as  bravely  in  the  solitude 
of  her  evening  drive  as  Maurice  had  fought  his 
under  the  African  sun,  and  like  him  she  was 
victorious  for  the  time.  Luckily  the  thought  did 
not  strike  her  that  a  resolution  could  be  kept 
with  comparative  ease  when  to  break  it  would 
mean  the  result  of  an  unaided  effort.  This  was 
the  time  for  suffering ;  but  when  leagues  of  land 
and  sea  no  longer  separated  them,  when  once 
more  his  voice  thrilled  her,  and  his  eyes  met 
hers,  then  would  come  the  time  for  resistance. 

When  she  reached  the  chateau  she  had  re 
gained  her  self-control,  and  her  nerves  were 
calmed,  half  by  her  will  and  half  by  the  sheer 
fatigue  that  follows  any  great  emotion.  She 
went  directly  to  her  salon,  and  was  surprised  to 
find  Philippe  waiting  for  her.  An  enormous  fire 
roared  and  blazed  in  the  grim  stone  chimney,  and 
as  he  stood  before  it  the  brilliant  light  brought 
out  vividly  the  lines  of  his  muscular,  well-made 
figure,  still  in  riding-costume,  the  rich  color  of 
his  hair  and  skin,  and  the  restless  sparkle  of  his 
eyes.  Even  Sylvia,  absorbed  and  worse  than  in 
different  as  she  was,  felt  an  involuntary  admi 
ration  of  such  a  complete  picture  of  physical 
manhood. 

He  came  towards  her,  his  hands  held  out,  his 
whole  manner  changed  since  their  last  meeting. 
He  had  cooled  down  during  a  hard  ride,  and  had 


A    TRANSATLANTIC    CHATELAINE.  333 

come  to  the  conclusion  that  he  must  stoop  to 
conquer.  Distasteful  as  the  notion  was  to  him, 
he  set  about  it  at  once. 

"  I  was  a  selfish  brute  to  you  this  morning, 
mignonne  ;  and  you  have  paid  me  well  for  it  by 
frightening  me." 

As  he  spoke,  he  took  her  furs  from  her,  and 
raised  her  gloved  hand  to  his  lips. 

"  By  Jove,  how  cold  you  are !  "  he  exclaimed, 
not  giving  her  time  to  reply;  "I  can  feel  the 
chill  through  your  glove.  Here,  sit  down  by  this 
fire  that  I  made  for  you  myself.  Where  have 
you  been  so  late,  making  me  think  that  you  were 
lost?" 

"  I  drove  to  La  Source,"  she  answered,  holding 
her  hands  out  to  the  fire ;  she  had  not  known 
before  how  cold  she  was. 

"  You  are  as  white  as  a  ghost,  too,"  he  went 
on,  ringing  the  bell.  "  You  must  have  some 
tea." 

"Oh  no,  I  don't  need  it;  besides,  isn't  it 
time  to  dress  for  dinner?  It  must  be  after 
seven." 

"  Dinner  may  wait  for  you.  Some  tea  at  once, 
for  Madame  la  comtesse,"  he  added,  turning  to 
the  servant  at  the  door ;  "  and  bring  some  cognac, 
too." 

Sylvia  leant  back  in  her  chair ;  she  was  cold, 
cold  to  her  heart,  and  very  tired.  She  could  not 


334  A    TRANSATLANTIC    CHATELAINE. 

think  ;  she  only  knew  that  it  was  good  to  feel 
the  warmth,  and  to  be  taken  care  of.  Philippe's 
voice  seemed  to  come  from  a  great  distance  as 
he  went  on  talking.  He  was  saying  something 
kind  —  that  she  could  distinguish  ;  something 
about  how  doubly  precious  her  life  was  to  him 
now,  and  of  the  new  pride  that  she  had  made  him 
feel.  But  she  could  not  answer  for  the  moment ; 
she  could  only  smile  languidly  at  him,  as  he  bent 
over  her.  When  the  tea  came  he  poured  it  out 
for  her  himself.  It  was  what  she  needed  ;  as 
she  swallowed  it,  the  color  came  again  to  cheeks 
and  lips,  and  the  fatigue  disappeared.  She  sat 
up  straight,  and  took  in  the  sense  of  what  he 
was  saying. 

"  You  will  promise  me  to  be  careful  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  she  said  submissively,  more  in  reply 
to  her  own  resolves  than  to  his  appeal,  —  "  yes, 
I  will  do  as  you  wish." 

"That's  right,"  he  said,  rubbing  his  hands. 

She  was  now  mistress  of  her  thoughts  once 
more,  and  it  flashed  into  her  mind  that  she  had 
wronged  this  man,  her  husband  ;  she  had  sinned 
against  him  in  thought  and  word  ;  and  she  owed 
it  to  him  to  atone  for  the  disloyalty  of  which  he 
was  unconscious,  —  not  for  his  sake,  but  to  right 
herself  in  her  own  sight,  to  make  herself  more 
worthy  ;  to  prove  to  some  invisible  presence  that 
Maurice  had  not  lowered  himself  by  loving  her. 


A    TRANSATLANTIC    CHATELAINE.          335 

A  whole  network  of  subtle  impulses  crossed  and 
recrossed  her  brain. 

"Now  that  you're  looking  yourself  again,  do 
you  want  to  dress  ?  Or  would  you  rather  dine 
here  ?  " 

"  Oh,  I  'in  quite  well,  thanks  ;  I  can  come  to 
dinner.  But  before  you  go,  Philippe,  I  want  to 
say  that  I  was  wrong  to  refuse  to  write  for  the 
money.  If  you  will  tell  me  what  to  say,  I  '11 
send  the  letter  this  evening." 

She  rose  as  she  said  this,  and  went  to  the  door 
of  her  own  room,  thus  cutting  short  his  expres 
sions  of  gratitude  ;  but  in  his  triumph  he  did  not 
notice  her  aloofness.  He  went  back  to  the  fire, 
and  stood  staring  at  the  flames ;  he  gave  his 
moustache  a  twirl  upwards,  and  a  smile  in  which 
satisfaction  and  conceit  mingled  was  on  his  lips. 

"  Ah,"  he  said  to  himself  ;  "  if  you  can't  gain 
a  woman  in  one  way,  it  is  pretty  certain  that  you 
can  in  another  ! 


CHAPTER  XVI. 

ONE  evening,  late  in  December,  most  of  the 
servants  of  the  chateau  were  gathered  about 
the  hearth  in  the  large  vaulted  kitchen.  Roar 
ing  flames  rushed  up  the  chimney,  as  if  eager 
to  meet  and  fight  the  wind  roaring  an  angry 
challenge  aloft  in  its  turn.  The  light  of  fire 
and  lamp  fell  on  the  brilliant  battery  of  cop 
per  saucepans  and  other  cooking  utensils  that 
gleamed  in  all  their  bravery  on  the  walls.  The 
square  red  tiles  on  the  floor  sent  up  a  ruddy 
glow  over  the  faces  of  the  company.  The  range 
with  all  its  accompanying  grirnness  was  hidden 
behind  a  huge  settle,  where  the  buxom  cook 
rested  from  her  labors,  and  the  whole  scene  was 
one  of  social  pleasure  —  or  perhaps  it  is  truer 
to  say  would  have  been,  had  not  the  expressions 
of  those  gathered  in  the  generous  warmth  ex 
pressed  a  certain  important  gravity  rather  than 
mirth. 

"  You  are  certain  it  was  the  Paris  doctor  who 
came  by  the  afternoon  train,  Jacques  ? "  asked 
the  cook  for  the  twentieth  time. 

"  When   I  told  you  again  and  again   that  I 


A    TRANSATLANTIC    CHATELAINE.  337 

drove  him  here  myself,  because  the  chief  was 
digesting  his  breakfast,  and  would  n't  budge!" 
replied  Jacques,  a  little  tempestuously. 

"  That  comes  of  thinking  only  an  Englishman 
can  drive  a  horse,  and  only  a  Scotchman  can  see 
to  a  garden,"  grumbled  Pierre,  the  old  butler ; 
"  when  the  truth  is,  that  all  one  is  good  for  is  to 
stuff  his  belly  and  swear  at  the  grooms ;  while 
the  other  tells  you  there  are  no  grapes  for  your 
table,  and  sells  them  under  your  very  nose,  put 
ting  the  money  in  his  pocket." 

A  murmur  of  applause  met  this  sally,  neither 
of  the  aliens  being  present.  Then  a  pretty 
chambermaid,  who  was  darning  stockings  under 
the  lamp,  made  herself  heard. 

"  I  know  it  was  the  Paris  doctor  who  came, 
for  Marcel,  as  usual,  ordered  me  to  unpack  his 
valise  and  lay  out  his  clothes,  and  then  pre 
tended  he  had  done  it  himself,  and  got  the  tip 
—  as  usual,  too." 

"  It 's  too  bad,  Jeanne,"  said  the  others;  while 
Pierre  added,  "  There  's  but  one  way  you  can  get 
even  with  him,  my  pretty  —  marry  him." 

Jacques,  the  only  other  man  present,  grinned 
at  this,  but  cook,  laundress,  chambermaid  and 
even  kitchen  girl  resented  it  loudly  as  being  a 
stigma  cast  on  their  sex.  As  they  threw  epi 
thets  at  him,  the  mildest  of  which  was  "  stingy 
old  bachelor,"  the  door  at  the  farther  end  of 


338  A    TRANSATLANTIC    CHATELAINE. 

the  room  opened,  and  the  wily  Marcel  appeared 
with  two  large  bottles  in  his  hands.  He  placed 
them  on  the  table,  displaying  as  he  did  so  a 
showy  ring  or  two,  and  then  said,  "•  Monsieur 
le  comte  sends  you  these  magnums  of  cham 
pagne  with  his  wishes  that  you  drink  the  health 
of  his  son  and  heir." 

A  chorus  of  exclamations  greeted  this  an 
nouncement. 

At  last,  when  quiet  was  partially  restored, 
Pierre  asked,  "  And  the  young  countess  ?  How 
is  she  ?  " 

"  As  well  as  can  be  expected,"  said  Marcel, 
repeating  the  diplomatic  phrase  which  the  doc 
tor  had  used  in  telling  his  master  of  the  great 
news. 

"  Won't  you  stay  and  have  a  glass  with  us  ?  " 
asked  the  cook  graciously,  as  in  the  capacity  of 
hostess. 

"  Thank  you,  no,"  replied  the  great  man ; 
"  it  is  not  my  brand.  Good-night  to  you  all." 

Sundry  sly  winks  and  shrugs  went  the  round 
of  the  company  as  he  walked  majestically  away, 
but  the  good  news  prevented  any  ill-natured 
remarks,  and  they  watched  Pierre  in  eager 
silence  as  he  carefully  cut  the  wires  of  the  cork, 
and  without  spilling  a  drop  sparingly  filled  the 
glasses  he  had  already  placed  on  the  table.  He 
then  handed  one  to  each  of  the  party,  and  stand- 


A    TRANSATLANTIC    CHATELAINE.  339 

ing  in  their  midst  held  his  own  up,  and  said  in  a 
solemn  voice :  — 

"  I  am  the  fourth  Richer  that  has  served  in 
this  chateau.  My  father,  grandfather,  and  great 
grandfather  all  have  lived  and  died  for  their 
masters  the  Counts  de  La  Roche.  I  am  the 
last,  and  I  leave  no  one  to  follow  me,  but  I  am 
none  the  less  faithful  for  that.  Here  's  health, 
strength,  and  virtue  to  the  young  master.  It 's 
not  very  likely  I  shall  see  him  count,  but  until 
I  die  this  old  hand  shall  do  its  best  to  work 
and  slave  and  save  for  him.  May  our  Lord 
and  the  Blessed  Virgin  and  the  Saints  help 
me." 

"Amen,  and  Amen,"  cried  the  others,  cross 
ing  themselves  at  the  holy  names,  and  then 
clinking  glasses  and  drinking  gravely. 

For  a  moment  no  one  spoke,  all  more  or  less 
moved  by  Pierre's  little  speech.  Then  Jacques 
shook  his  ruddy  face,  and  said  huskily :  "  It 's  an 
awful  serious  matter,  having  a  child.  I  know, 
for  my  first  is  only  ten  days  old.  Poor  Mon 
sieur  le  comte." 

'•'•Poor  Monsieur  le  comte f"  exclaimed  the 
cook  with  energy,  heaving  her  ample  propor 
tions  to  an  alert  position.  "  Poor  Madame  la 
comtesse,  you  mean." 

The  other  women  echoed  her  scornful  laugh, 
but  Jacques  held  his  own. 


340  A    TRANSATLANTIC    CHATELAINE. 

"  No,  my  sympathies  are  all  with  him.  In  all 
my  life  I  never  suffered  so  much." 

" You  suffered!  "  snorted  the  cook. 

"  Yes,"  he  answered  firmly.  "  I  was  in  such  a 
state  that  my  mother-in-law  could  not  make  me 
go  for  the  nurse ;  she  had  to  send  a  little  boy." 

"  Jacques,  you  try  my  patience,"  said  the 
cook ;  "  you  had  better  hold  your  tongue  and 
not  talk  about  matters  you  know  nothing  of. 
I,  who  have  had  twins,  could  say  a  word  if  I 
would." 

"  Yes,"  chimed  in  the  chorus  of  women,  "  you 
had  better  keep  quiet,  Jacques.'' 

"  Ladies,"  continued  the  groom,  "  you  all 
have  known,  or  will  know,  what  it  is  to  be 
mothers,  but  you  can  never,  never,  know  what  it 
is  to  be  a  father ;  and  for  a  sensitive  man  like 
me  "  —  Here  he  paused,  and  looked  round  for 
Pierre  to  refill  his  glass ;  but  the  butler,  true  to 
his  self-imposed  duty,  during  the  discussion  had 
slipped  away  with  the  second  magnum,  which 
he  would  hoard,  magpie-like,  for  his  master's 
benefit. 

For  a  moment  silence  reigned.  Each  woman 
glanced  stonily  at  the  groom,  with  the  exception 
of  the  laundress,  the  ugliest  wench  who  ever 
plunged  her  red,  mottled  arms  into  soap  suds. 
She  giggled  and  looked  coy. 

Perhaps  this  sign  of  appreciation  encouraged 


A    TRANSATLANTIC    CHATELAINE.          341 

Jacques,  for  he  continued  :  "  Yes,  for  a  sensitive 
man  —  and  all  my  family  are  sensitive,  too. 
Now  my  mother-in-law  has  no  just  knowledge  of 
the  higher  feelings,  for  when  I  was  needing  all 
the  sympathy  I  could  have,  she  pushed  me  off 
my  chair,  and  called  me  a  —  ladies,  she  called 
me  a  —  lout." 

"  Right  she  was,  too,"  said  madame  cook  en 
ergetically  ;  and  Jacques,  looking  about,  saw  a 
lack  of  friendliness  that  seemed  to  wound  his 
tender  organization,  even  the  laundress  having  a 
distant  bearing.  So  he  rose,  wrapped  his  heavy 
scarf  about  him,  and  taking  his  hat  said  good- 
evening. 

"  I  will  carry  the  good  news  home  to  my 
wife,"  he  said.  "  And  if  by  chance  Madame  la 
comtesse  should  want  a  wet-nurse  for  the  baby, 
perhaps  some  one  will  say  a  good  word  for  my 
Marie." 

"  For  her  !  "  retoi'ted  the  cook  with  fine  sar 
casm.  "  Oh  no,  Monsieur  Jacques  ;  but  we  will 
recommend  you  for  the  position,  as  you  seem  to 
be  so  entirely  at  home  in  the  whole  affair." 

Jacques  retired  abruptly  amid  a  burst  of 
shrill  laughter,  and  the  four  women  drew  nearer 
together  for  a  bit  of  gossip. 

"  The  heir  will  have  his  pockets  well  lined," 
began  the  laundress.  "  They  say  the  countess 
owns  a  hundred  srold  mines  in  America." 


342  A    TRANSATLANTIC    CHATELAINE. 

"  If  she  owned  a  thousand.  Marcel  and  the 
count  would  soon  make  an  end  of  them,"  an 
swered  the  chambermaid,  setting  her  basket 
aside;  and  drawing'  close  to  the  fire,  she  thriftily 
turned  back  the  skirt  of  her  dress,  displaying 
thereby  a  neat  petticoat,  and  two  trim  well-shod 
little  feet.  The  cook  instinctively  drew  her 
large  list  slippers  under  her  dress,  and  the  laun 
dress  stared  in  wistful  admiration. 

"How  you  hate  Marcel,  Jeanne,"  she  said. 

"  I  know  him,"  returned  she  significantly. 
"  He  has  every  fault :  he  is  stingy,  insincere, 
cruel,  and  greedy." 

"  You  may  well  say  that,"  chimed  in  the 
cook.  "  What  did  he  do  last  All  Saints',  and 
he  pretending  to  be  a  good  Catholic  ?  Our 
bishop  proclaimed  it  a  fast,  but  the  bishop  in 
the  next  department  did  not ;  so  what  does  my 
gentleman  do  but  go  to  Monsieur  le  comte  and 
tell  him  that  he  had  heard  of  a  fine  horse  at 
Blois,  only  to  be  seen  that  day.  lie  gets  a 
pocket  full  of  money,  skips  over  the  line,  eats  a 
fine  breakfast,  conies  home  and  says  the  horse 
is  sold." 

"  Like  master,  like  man,"  said  Jeanne  with  a 
touch  of  bitterness.  "  I  pity  the  poor  young 
countess,  that  I  do." 

Pierre,  who  had  crept  in  with  his  usual  noise 
less  tread,  heard  this  last  remark. 


A    TRANSATLANTIC    CHATELAINE.          343 

"  A  nice  one  you  are,  to  be  pitying  a  fine  lady 
like  that,"  he  exclaimed. 

"  La,  you  frightened  me,  Monsieur  Pierre," 
returned  Jeanne,  forgetting  her  scorn  for  men 
in  the  presence  of  one. 

"  I  wish  I  could  frighten  you  all  into  loyalty," 
he  said  severely,  looking  round  the  little  group. 
"  It 's  a  sad  sign  of  the  times  when  the  domes 
tics  discuss  and  pity  their  masters." 

"  Loyalty  breeds  loyalty,  Monsieur  Pierre," 
answered  the  cook  solemnly.  "  Would  n't  any 
of  us  die  gladly  for  our  old  mistress  ?  and  as 
for  the  young  one  we  have  yet  to  see  what  she 
may  be.  But,  Pierre,  you  and  I  are  past  the 
age  when  we  can  shut  our  eyes  to  facts,  and  you 
know  as  well  as  I  do  that  Monsieur  le  comte  is 
not  worthy  of  his  name." 

"  Hush,  woman  ;  is  there  no  family  pride  left 
among  you  ?  " 

"  There  might  be  if  Monsieur  Maurice  had 
been  our  master,"  said  the  cook  with  enthu 
siasm.  "  There  is  a  gentleman  for  you.  I  was 
a  slip  of  a  girl  here  when  he  was  born  in  the  old 
wing,"  she  continued,  noticing  with  a  look  of 
scorn  only  Jeanne's  giggle  at  the  word  "  slip." 
"  It  was  the  same  room  where  the  new  heir  is  now, 
and  if  ever  a  boy  lived  who  was  a  nobleman  all 
through  it  was  Monsieur  Maurice." 

"  This  is  treason,"  said  Pierre  angrily.    "  We 


344          A    TRANSATLANTIC    CHATELAINE. 

have  no  right  to  say  what  we  think  of  our  mas 
ters  ;  you  gabbling-  women  would  be  better  em 
ployed  saying  your  prayers  for  the  baby  who 
has  come  to  bear  the  name  we  ought  all  to  feel 
proud  of." 

"  He  '11  have  money  enough  to  keep  it  up, 
won't  he?  "  asked  Jeanne. 

Pierre  shook  his  head  dolefully.  "  I  'm  not 
sure  any  fortune  can  stand  the  extravagance  of 
these  days.  They  tell  me  that  the  young  coun 
tess  is  as  rich  asjAhe  emperor ;  but  if  you  could 
see  the  way  things  go  in  my  pantry  —  Dear, 
dear,  it  makes  me  sad.  Think  of  finding  a  bottle 
of  cognac  open,  hardly  a  glass  out  of  it,  left 
uncorked  all  night.  That  is  what  I  see  almost 
every  morning.  But  I  hope  I  may  be  spared 
long  enough  to  teach  the  new  count  a  little  econ 
omy.  And  now  the  fire  has  burnt  out,  and  it  is 
too  late  to  put  on  a  fresh  log.  So  good-night, 
and  remember  the  heir  in  your  prayers." 


CHAPTER  XVII. 

To  Sylvia  the  world  seemed  to  have  receded, 
and  to  have  left  her  in  a  universe  of  her  own, 
of  which  the  baby,  her  baby,  was  the  sun.  No 
thing  was  of  any  consequence  to  her  outside 
the  four  walls  of  the  room  which  held  him. 
What  did  she  care  for  emperors  or  dynasties  in 
comparison  with  her  king  ?  Here  at  last  was 
something  of  her  very  own,  to  love,  to  live  for. 
All  the  exalted  dreams  of  her  past  seemed  to  be 
entirely  forgotten  by  her  in  her  new  interest ; 
she  did  not  even  remember  that  she  had  ever 
longed  for  any  greater  excitement  than  to  see 
the  baby  in  his  bath,  or  feel  him  in  her  arms. 
The  old  room  with  its  faded  tapestries  was  an 
enchanted  glade  to  her,  and  the  fairy  prince  had 
come  whose  touch  was  to  transform  it  all.  Every 
experience  in  her  life  had  unfolded  a  new  petal 
of  her  nature,  and  now  the  great  mystery  of 
motherhood  had  come  to  show  glowing,  radiant 
depths  in  her  character. 

For  the  first  weeks  she  was  absolutely  happy. 
Even  the  daily  call  from  Philippe  failed  to  de 
press  her ;  every  perception  unconnected  with 


346  A    TRANSATLANTIC    CHATELAINE. 

her  child  seemed  to  be  muffled,  and  incapable 
of  any  intensity  of  sensation.  She  wished  that 
the  daily  round  of  little  duties,  each  so  vital 
in  its  relation  to  the  baby,  might  continue  for 
ever.  A  woman  less  absorbed,  or  more  selfish, 
would  perhaps  have  found  some  sadness  in  the 
reflection  that  she  came  first  in  no  heart  about 
her ;  but  Sylvia  never  noticed  that  only  old  Jus 
tine  gave  her  as  much  attention  as  she  did  the 
newcomer.  There  was  pathos  in  the  situation  : 
the  young,  beautiful  woman  who  had  given  her 
all  to  support  the  tottering  columns  of  the  an 
cient  family,  and  who  lay  there  beamingly  happy, 
not  demanding  any  recompense  for  herself,  only 
grateful  that  at  last  God  had  given  her  some 
one  upon  whom  she  could  lavish  the  wealth  of 
love  that  had  never  yet  found  an  outlet.  Un 
suspected  capabilities  of  affection  showed  them 
selves,  surprising  herself.  She  wondered  where 
the  knowledge  came  from  that  taught  her  how 
to  handle  the  little  bundle  so  cleverly. 

When  she  grew  strong  enough  to  sit  before 
the  fire,  and  dress  or  undress  the  baby,  what  de 
light  was  hers.  He  was  a  fine  specimen,  and  she 
reveled  in  the  deep  creases,  drawn  with  geomet 
rical  precision,  round  the  fat  red  arms  and  legs, 
the  sweet  curve  at  the  nape  of  his  neck,  and  the 
delicious  hollow  in  the  small  of  his  back.  Sylvia 
used  to  wonder  that  the  important  Parisian  nurse 


A    TRANSATLANTIC    CHATELAINE.  347 

did  not  think  these  points  as  wonderful  as  she 
did,  and  felt  almost  wounded  when  Justine  un 
warily  remarked  that  she  herself  had  been  a 
prettier  baby.  Madame  de  La  Roche  alone  sat 
isfied  the  demanding  mother,  for  according  to 
her  no  child  so  healthy,  so  beautiful,  so  intel 
ligent,  had  ever  come  into  the  world :  the  older 
woman  used  to  feel  her  youth  renewed,  and  often 
marveled  that  she  was  still  open  to  such  serene 
content  as  now  enveloped  her. 

Philippe  was  proud  and  pleased.  Sylvia  ap 
peared  to  him  in  a  new  light.  As  the  mother  of 
his  son  she  had  the  right  to  an  important  posi 
tion  in  his  regard,  and  she  should  have  it.  She 
did  not  jar  on  him  now  in  her  helplessness  as 
she  had  when,  strong  and  independent,  she  had 
claimed  her  rights.  To  him  she  assumed  a  more 
becoming,  a  more  feminine  attitude,  and  he  re 
solved  to  forget  the  past,  and  let  her  see  the 
broader  power  over  him  she  might  acquire  by  a 
greater  show  of  submission.  It  was  not  surpris 
ing  that  her  quiet  attitude  of  self-protection  had 
annoyed  him,  when  one  considers  his  education, 
for  he  had  never  seen  a  woman  assert  herself  be 
fore.  Had  he  been  in  love  with  his  wife,  this 
would  have  amused  him  ;  feeling  as  he  did,  it 
had  only  served  to  widen  the  distance  between 
them.  But  now,  he  reflected,  things  would  be 
different ;  they  had  a  common  interest,  a  mutual 


348  A    TRANSATLANTIC    CHATELAINE. 

object  in  life,  and  if  they  did  not  pull  together 
in  future  the  fault  should  not  be  his.  He  would 
give  up  all  gambling  ;  his  former  resolves  went 
for  nothing  ;  then  he  had  had  no  stimulus  to  aid 
him,  but  now,  for  the  sake  of  his  heir,  he  would 
rival  old  Pierre  in  stinginess.t 

The  January  income  arrived  early  in  Decem 
ber,  as  Sylvia  had  requested,  and  Philippe  de 
termined  with  a  violence  which  betrayed  how 
little  likely  he  was  to  keep  his  resolution  that 
he  would  not  run  in  debt  for  another  franc,  but 
struggle  through  the  coming  quarter  on  the  small 
sum  that  remained  in  his  hands  after  he  had 
paid  his  debts  of  honor.  He  fortified  himself  by 
going  to  Sylvia's  room,  and  watching  the  baby 
from  a  discreet  distance  while  he  vibrated  be 
tween  mother,  grandmother,  and  nurse.  As  they 
sat  there  the  afternoon  mail  was  brought  in  by 
Pierre,  who  never  failed  to  pay  his  daily  respects 
to  his  young  master,  mingled  with  a  few  warn 
ings  to  the  nurse  against  draughts  and  baths. 
Sylvia  let  the  letters  lie  unheeded  while  she 
smilingly  watched  the  butler's  clumsy  attempts 
to  attract  the  baby's  notice. 

"  He  has  fine  blue  eyes  like  Madame  la  com- 
tesse,"  he  said,  as  he  turned  reluctantly  away. 

"  You  can't  tell  at  his  age  what  color  his  eyes 
will  be,"  said  the  nurse  haughtily  ;  "  they  may 
come  out  green,  or  brown,  or  yellow  for  all  you 
know." 


A  TRANSATLANTIC  CHATELAINE.    349 

Sylvia  tore  open  her  envelopes.  "Ah,"  she 
said,  "  Flora  Lee-Blair  is  coming  down  to-mor 
row  for  a  few  days.  That  is  very  kind,  for  she 
hates  the  country  in  winter." 

In  his  heart  Philippe  wished  that  she  hated  it 
more,  so  as  to  prevent  her  from  coming  to  trouble 
him  ;  he  knew  what  she  wanted  ;  it  was  no  kind 
ness  that  brought  her,  it  was  because  she  had 
spent  all  her  money.  He  had  entirely  forgotten 
her,  and  it  gave  him  a  rude  and  unpleasant  shock 
to  remember  that  in  a  way  he  was  pledged  to 
provide  for  her.  He  could  not  put  her  off ;  it 
was  embarrassing  enough  that  she  was  obliged 
to  remind  him  of  her  need,  and  he  could  not 
offer  her  a  small  sum,  either.  He  saw  but  one 
way  out  of  his  difficulty :  to  go  to  Paris  and  play 
for  high  stakes  ;  if  he  won,  well  and  good  ;  if  he 
lost,  there  were  his  old  friends  the  Jews.  So  it 
happened  that  when  Flora  arrived  in  the  chill 
dusk  of  a  January  evening,*  driven  by  anxiety  to 
take  this  step,  she  was  annoyed  and  disgusted  to 
hear  that  her  intended  prey  had  slipped  through 
her  fingers,  and  that  his  train,  taking  him  to 
Paris,  had  passed  hers  leaving  it. 

Sylvia  was  in  her  salon  waiting  for  Flora 
with  a  curious,  reluctant  feeling:  it  seemed  to 
her  that  the  peace  of  the  past  weeks  was  to 
be  disturbed ;  but  she  determined  to  show  her 
friend  how  grateful  she  was  for  her  kindness. 


350          A    TRANSATLANTIC   CHATELAINE. 

She  was  always  pursued  by  a  sensation  that  she 
was  in  a  way  responsible  for  Flora's  welfare  ;  it 
was  for  her  that  she  had  hired  an  apartment  in 
Paris,  and  begged  her  to  live  in  it  and  keep  it 
in  readiness  for  a  possible  visit. 

As  Mrs.  Lee  -  Blair  followed  the  servant 
through  the  stone  corridors,  echoing  to  the  click 
of  her  high  heels,  she  shivered  more  from  gloom 
than  cold.  The  drive  from  the  station  had  de 
pressed  her,  the  country  seemed  so  wide  and 
empty  after  the  crowded,  brilliant  Paris  streets. 
She  made  an  effort,  however,  when  she  came 
into  Sylvia's  presence,  and  the  two  women 
kissed  each  other  with  every  show  of  affection. 

"  How  well  you  look,  dear  girl,  and  how  ex 
traordinarily  happy." 

"  Thank  you,  Flora.  I  am  well,  and  when 
you  see  my  boy  you  will  understand  why  I 
look  happy.  Let  me  take  your  wrap.  Are  you 
frozen  ? " 

"  Almost,"  said  Flora  in  a  preoccupied  tone. 
She  forgot  that  the  ostensible  reason  for  her 
visit  was  the  baby,  and  that  she  ought  to  put  on 
a  semblance  of  interest.  Long  habit,  more  than 
nature,  had  made  her  own  affairs  of  such  para 
mount  importance  to  her  that  only  when  her 
mind  was  at  ease  about  herself  could  she  afford 
to  indulge  in  sentiment  about  her  friends.  Now 
she  gave  a  dismal  look  over  her  shoulder,  and 


A  TRANSATLANTIC  CHATELAINE.    351 

crouched  nearer  to  the  fire,  spreading  her  tur 
quoise-covered  fingers  to  the  blaze. 

"  How  can  you  bear  it  down  here,  Sylvia  ? 
Upon  my  word,  this  room  seems  larger  to  me 
than  the  Place  de  1'Etoile  ;  are  you  never 
frightened  sitting  alone  with  all  those  pale, 
weird  ghosts  of  birds  and  beasts  on  the  walls  ?  " 

"  Xo,  I  like  them,  and  I  love  the  space,"  an 
swered  Sylvia.  "  Dinner  will  be  ready  directly. 
Will  you  go  first  to  your  rooms  ?  " 

"  No  ;  I  am  afraid  of  the  staircase.  One 
never  knows  what  may  be  round  the  corners  in 
those  winding  affairs.  Let  me  wash  my  hands 
in  your  room,  and  forgive  me  to-night  for  not 
dressing  ;  I  am  so  tired." 

Sylvia  looked  at  her  attentively.  There  was 
a  new  ring  in  her  voice,  something  out  of  tune 
and  uncharacteristic  of  her  usual  jolly,  rather 
reckless  way  of  speaking.  This  was  not  the 
time  to  ask  questions,  but  the  hostess  resolved 
to  find  out  the  trouble,  and  remedy  it  if  pos 
sible. 

"  I  still  dine  in  my  own  salon,"  she  said, 
leading  the  way  to  her  room,  and  lowering  her 
voice  as  she  approached  the  sacred  shrine  where 
the  baby  slept.  "  We  have  taken  the  whole 
suite  for  a  nursery,"  she  added,  "  and  Monsieur 
de  La  Roche  has  gone  back  to  his  bachelor 
apartment  in  the  other  wing.  He  left  no  end  of 


352          A    TRANSATLANTIC    CHATELAINE. 

messages  for  you,  and  wants  you  to  be  sure  and 
wait  for  his  return.  lie  will  be  in  Paris  for  a 
few  clays  only." 

Flora  made  her  hasty  toilet,  her  spirits  both 
heightened  and  depressed  by  this  speech.  If 
he  wanted  her  to  wait  for  him  financial  matters 
were  not  so  bad  ;  but  the  vista  of  tete-a-tete 
dinners  with  the  old  countess,  and  the  childish 
fear  she  felt  of  the  grim  chateau,  with  the  gray, 
far-reaching  night  outside,  made  present  dis 
comfort  blot  out  future  gain.  She  did  her  best, 
however,  and  when  she  returned  for  an  hour's 
chat  with  Sylvia  before  going  to  bed  she  was 
her  old  entertaining  self. 

The  next  morning  brought  clear  cold  sun 
shine.  She  dawdled  over  her  dressing  until  the 
second  breakfast,  admired  the  baby  enough  to 
please  even  Sylvia,  and  somehow  the  day  slipped 
by.  The  third  morning,  just  as  she  was  begin 
ning  to  fear  that  she  might  go  mad  or  die  from 
dullness,  she  received  the  joyful  news  that  Phi 
lippe  would  arrive  at  noon.  This  meant  that  her 
adored  Paris  was  only  a  few  hours  away  from 
her,  and  she  decided  to  leave  La  Roche  as  soon 
as  she  decently  could.  She  was  sitting  with 
Sylvia  when  his  carriage  was  heard  in  the  court. 
He  came  instantly  to  his  wife,  and  Flora  was 
impressed  by  an  air  of  subdued  excitement  in 
his  manner,  brought  into  strong  contrast  with 


A    TRANSATLANTIC    CHATELAINE.  353 

Sylvia's  calm  reception  of  him.  Just  at  that 
time  he  counted  for  almost  nothing  in  her  life, 
absorbed  as  she  was  in  her  child.  He  met  Flora 
with  a  distant  courtesy  that  he  always  affected 
before  outsiders,  and  then  asked  eagerly  for  the 
baby.  The  nurse  was  summoned,  and  the  most 
important  member  of  the  family  was  brought  in. 
Then  for  the  first  time  Flora  noticed  a  slight 
uneasiness  in  Sylvia,  a  flutter,  like  that  of  a 
mother  bird  when  some  human  eye  rests  on  its 
nest  where  the  little  ones  are.  She  did  not  rise 
from  her  chair,  but  her  eye  followed  Philippe's 
movements  restlessly,  and  her  hands  stirred,  as 
if  they  would  have  snatched  the  child  from  its 
father's  arms.  He  did  not  hold  it  long,  and 
when  he  gave  it  up  to  the  nurse,  Sylvia  was 
again  herself.  The  whole  thing  was  so  slight 
that  only  a  close  observer  would  have  noticed 
it ;  but  it  struck  Flora  forcibly,  and  roused  a 
feeling  of  remorse  in  her  heart. 

At  that  moment  came  the  sound  of  the  first 
bell  for  breakfast,  and  Philippe  left  them,  beg 
ging  Mrs.  Lee-Blair  to  wait  for  him  to  return 
and  take  her  to  the  dining-room.  A  lusty  cry 
from  the  baby  made  Sylvia  rush  to  the  nursery, 
and  Flora  was  left  alone  to  face  the  new  and 
unpleasant  sensation  that  she  was  to  a  large 
degree  responsible  for  this  marriage,  and  that  it 
meant  anything  but  happiness  to  her  friend. 


354          A    TRANSATLANTIC    CHATELAINE. 

She  tried  in  vain  to  sweep  away  the  disagree 
able  conviction  that  she  had  done  wrong1,  and  it 
was  in  full  possession  of  her  when  Philippe  re 
turned,  and  offered  his  arm. 

As  they  crossed  the  court  slowly,  he  said  in  a 
low  tone,  "  There  is  a  large  sum  at  your  banker's 
for  you." 

Something  seemed  to  whisper  to  Flora  :  "  Re 
fuse  it ;  it  is  yours  by  fraud." 

She  hesitated,  and  he  went  on  :  "  If  you  invest 
it  properly,  you  will  get  a  very  pretty  income 
from  it,  and,  to  be  frank,  that  would  be  a  wiser 
method  than  depending  on  me.  Heaven  only 
knows  what  may  happen  to  me  in  these  unsettled 
times." 

She  saw  her  chance  now  to  still  her  con 
science,  and  secure  her  future  at  one  stroke. 
"  Thank  you,"  she  said.  "  I  feel  now  that  we 
are  quits.  I  have  helped,  you,  you  have  helped 
me  ;  that 's  fair,  is  n't  it  ?  "  —  and  as  they  stood 
on  the  doorstep  she  put  out  her  hand.  He  took 
it  with  a  smile  of  relief,  and  held  it  for  a  moment. 
lie  was  triumphant.  Ilis  play  had  been  wonder 
fully  lucky,  and  in  two  evenings  he  had  won 
enough  to  shake  off  his  old  man  of  the  sea  for 
ever,  he  hoped. 

Sylvia  had  in  the  mean  time  returned  to  her 
salon,  thinking  that  Flora  was  still  there.  Find 
ing  the  room  vacant,  she  had  gone  to  the  window, 


A    TRANSATLANTIC    CHATELAINE.  355 

and  saw  her  husband  and  her  friend  across  the 
court,  their  hands  clasped.  The  memory  of  what 
she  had  seen  at  Trouville,  and  but  idly  noticed 
at  the  time,  flashed  into  her  mind ;  there,  on  the 
sands,  they  had  shaken  hands  just  as  now.  All 
her  false  feeling  of  calm  and  security  left  her, 
and  she  was  forced  to  take  up  the  old  burden  of 
suspicion  of  her  husband.  That  meant,  the  father 
of  her  child.  She  must  be  on  her  guard,  and  seek 
for  traces  of  that  stained  inheritance  in  the  crea 
ture  she  loved  the  most.  Was  nothing  perfect 
in  this  world  ?  No  affection  pure,  and  without 
its  flaw?  As  she  put  these  questions  to  herself, 
the  thought  of  the  bond  between  Maurice  and 
his  father  came  to  her  mind,  the  mutual  confi 
dence  and  appreciation  that  riveted  it,  and  tears 
arose  in  her  eyes.  They  were  true  and  noble ; 
they  deserved  each  other's  love  and  admiration  ; 
the  finest  qualities  of  the  strong  old  blood  seemed 
to  have  been  diverted  from  the  main  branch,  and 
to  have  concentrated  themselves  in  the  unrecog 
nized  offshoot.  As  Sylvia  stood  motionless  at 
the  window,  regardless  of  the  servant  arranging 
her  breakfast,  she  thought  more  of  Monsieur 
Regnier  than  of  his  son.  The  brave,  wise  old 
man  seemed  a  tower  of  strength  to  her. 

"  I  wonder  if  he  would  consent  to  be  the  baby's 
godfather,"  she  pondered.  "  He  could  help  me 
in  so  many  ways  ;  he  told  me  that  day  how  hard 


356  A    TRANSATLANTIC    CHATELAINE. 

1  must  work  to  counteract  the  evils  of  inherit 
ance." 

This  idea  took  a  deep  root,  and  she  found  to 
her  pleasure  that  the  countess  approved  of  her 
choice.  Philippe  shrugged  his  shoulders,  re 
marked  that  old  Regiiier  was  not  a  good  Cath 
olic,  and  could  not  be  expected  to  advance  the 
boy's  worldly  interests  much,  but  when  he  saw 
that  his  mother's  heart  was  wrapped  up  in  this 
choice,  he  submitted  with  a  very  good  grace. 

Now  that  Sylvia  had  begun  to  take  up  her 
old  life,  she  gradually  lost  in  his  eyes  the  tran 
sient  charms  that  soft  silks  and  laces  had  lent  her 
while  she  was  still  on  her  sofa ;  with  her  every 
day  clothes  she  seemed  to  him  to  have  assumed 
her  former  irritating  freedom  of  action  ;  he  ceased 
to  feel  at  his  ease  in  her  presence.  Perhaps  some 
subtle  thought-transference  made  him  dimly  sen 
sible  that  she  was  studying  him  minutely,  trying 
if  possible  to  find  some  quality  in  him  to  admire, 
so  that  in  later  years  she  might  say  to  her  child, 
"  Be  like  your  father  in  that."  Day  by  day  she 
grew  more  hopeless  of  succeeding  ;  her  eyes  saw 
him  now  with  a  dispassionate  severity,  more  fatal 
to  softer  sentiments  than  any  glow  of  vehemence. 
"  If  I  might  only  respect  him,  I  would  not  ask 
for  love,"  she  used  to  think. 

It  had  been  a  relief  to  her  when  Flora  took 
her  rather  abrupt  leave  the  day  after  her  inter- 


.1    TRANSATLANTIC    CHATELAINE.  357 

view  with  Philippe,  on  her  way  to  her  own 
people  in  England,  but  her  instinct  had  been 
right.  The  visit,  short  as  it  was,  marked  the 
end  of  that  interlude  of  perfect  content  and  joy. 
From  that  day  the  love  she  lavished  on  her  child 
grew  in  intensity,  but  it  had  lost  its  absolute 
serenity. 

Through  the  winter  she  did  not  see  Monsieur 
Regnier.  At  first  he  was  confined  to  the  house 
by  a  heavy  cold,  and  the  doctor  sent  him,  as 
soon  as  he  was  able  to  travel,  to  the  Riviera ; 
like  many  men  he  wrote  short  and  unsatisfac 
tory  letters,  except  to  Maurice,  and  Sylvia  used 
to  have  an  uneasy  feeling  that  she  had  lost  him 
out  of  her  life.  But  this  sensation  disappeared 
when  his  answer  came  to  her  request  that  he 
should  be  the  baby's  godfather;  it  was  short, 
but  showed  plainly  his  pleasure  at  having  been 
asked.  He  came  back  to  La  Source  in  April, 
and  the  first  Sunday  in  May  was  appointed  for 
the  christening. 

The  old  church  at  the  end  of  the  village  road, 
with  its  curiously  carved  font,  had  always  been 
preferred  by  the  family  for  occasions  of  this  kind, 
to  the  chapel  in  the  rock,  which  seemed  more 
like  a  tomb  than  a  place  of  ceremonial.  The 
distance  was  short,  and  the  morning  dawning 
clear  and  brilliant,  the  party  set  out  on  foot.  It 
was  a  great  day  for  the  little  hamlet ;  the  peas- 


358  A    TRANSATLANTIC    CHATELAINE. 

ants  dressed  their  houses  with  garlands  and 
strewed  the  way  with  wreaths,  roses,  and  bluets. 
The  church  bells  rang  a  joyful  carillon.  Every 
inhabitant  who  could  walk  or  be  carried  was  in 
the  place  before  the  church,  and  those  who  were 
too  old  or  infirm  to  leave  their  houses  were 
propped  close  to  the  open  casements,  and  in  feeble 
voices  blessed  the  young  heir,  who  made  his  royal 
progress,  gorgeous  in  laces,  and  sleeping  in  pro 
found  content  on  his  pillow.  The  interior  of  the 
church  was  cool  and  dim  after  the  wealth  of 
color  and  light  without ;  the  altar  to  the  Virgin 
was  ablaze  with  candles,  and  made  the  only 
brilliant  spot  in  the  noon  twilight.  The  old 
cure,  arrayed  in  white  and  gold,  stood  by  the 
altar,  and  the  chateau  party  clustered  about  him, 
the  peasants  hanging  round  the  door,  as  if  afraid 
of  intruding.  Sylvia  had  learned  with  some 
amusement  that  she  was  not  called  upon  to  choose 
her  boy's  name,  and  listened  half  bewildered 
to  the  apparently  endless  string  of  appellations 
given  to  him.  But  it  mattered  little  to  her  ;  and 
her  mind  soon  lost  count  of  the  present  in  vague, 
hopeful  dreams  for  the  future.  It  was  soon  over, 
the  witnesses  signed  their  names  in  the  sacristie, 
and  once  more  they  came  out  into  the  dazzling 
sunlight. 

The  children  of   Madame  Lefevre,  who  had 
been  given  a  holiday  for  this  joyful  occasion, 


A    TRANSATLANTIC    CHATELAINE.          359 

each  carried  a  satin  bag  filled  with  sugared  al 
monds,  the  time-honored  dragee  of  French  chris 
tenings.  The  party  halted  on  the  church  steps, 
and  with  shouts  of  joy  the  little  Lefevres  show 
ered  the  candy  in  handfuls  among  the  village 
youngsters.  Then  what  a  scrambling,  scuffling, 
and  romping  ensued.  Sylvia  watched  this  scene, 
new  to  her,  with  much  amusement ;  the  presence 
of  the  count  awed  the  young  villagers  into  com 
paratively  good  behavior,  and  inevitable  cuffs 
and  blows  were  given  and  taken  in  good  part. 
Little  Maurice  Lefevre  evidently  thought  the 
whole  proceeding  a  deplorable  waste  of  good 
candy,  and  for  every  meagre  handful  that  he 
threw  among  the  scrambling  crowd,  he  deposited 
as  many  sweeties  in  his  mouth  as  it  could  well 
hold.  Sylvia,  to  her  delight,  heard  Pierre  the 
butler  commending  the  young  gourmand  in  the 
following  words  :  "  That 's  right,  my  little  mas 
ter,  save  some  ;  don't  throw  all  to  the  riffraff 
down  there,  and  I  '11  give  you  a  big  sou  for  what 
you  bring  back  to  the  chateau,  and  you  shall  see 
them  on  the  table  at  breakfast." 

"  Got  plenty  of  sous  at  home  ;  like  bonbons 
best,"  said  Maurice  in  a  husky  voice,  his  mouth 
full.  This  false  step  attracted  his  mother's  at 
tention,  who  snatched  his  satin  bag  from  him, 
declaring  in  shrill  tones  how  sure  she  was 
that  he  had  made  himself  ill.  Young  Maurice, 


360   I  A  TRANSATLANTIC  CHATELAINE. 

strong  in  the  knowledge  that  lie  had  secured 
more  candy  in  ten  minutes  than  he  had  ever 
had  in  his  short  life,  submitted  to  this  indignity, 
and  stood  sturdily  licking  his  fat,  sticky  hands, 
getting  faint  and  ever  fainter  reminiscences  of 
past  joys  from  the  operation. 

Philippe,  who  thoroughly  enjoyed  playing  the 
good  lord  of  the  chateau  on  occasions  like  this, 
stood  laughing  and  encouraging  the  good-na 
tured  buffeting,  until  the  last  dragee  had  disap 
peared  ;  then,  taking  a  leather  bag  from  Marcel, 
filled  with  half  francs,  he  scattered  the  silver 
in  the  air ;  it  fell,  a  shimmering  shower  on 
the  joyous  young  peasants,  and  the  christening 
party  resumed  its  way  home  amid  their  pro 
longed  cheers. 

This  was  a  busy  day,  for  custom  demanded  a 
breakfast  for  the  entire  village,  and  on  reaching 
the  chateau  the  long  tables  were  seen  spread 
in  the  court,  over  which  a  temporary  awning 
had  been  erected.  Everybody  who  was  able, 
turned  out  for  this  festivity,  and  after  the  vil 
lagers  had  been  left  to  themselves,  their  tongues 
wagged  vigorously,  as  the  middle-aged  recalled 
the  christening  feast  of  the  present  count,  and 
a  few  old  ti'eble  voices  made  themselves  heard 
as  they  told  of  incidents  remembered  either 
personally,  or  vicariously  of  the  day  when  his 
father  was  carried  about  this  same  court, 


.4    TRANSATLANTIC    CHATELAINE.  361 

wrapped  in  the  same  laces  which  now  adorned 
the  unconscious  cause  of  the  feast.  At  last  the 
moment  came  when  Pierre,  who  had  superin 
tended  the  repast,  appeared  in  the  dining-room 
to  tell  his  master  that  the  revelers  wished  to 
drink  the  family  healths.  The  baby,  dewy  and 
rosy,  after  a  long  sleep,  was  placed  in  his 
mother's  arms,  and  they  all  stepped  out  into  the 
court  to  receive  their  compliments. 

The  cure,  who  stood  a  little  behind  the  others, 
was  seen  to  smile  and  nod  at  a  remark  whis 
pered  in  his  ear  by  his  sacristan,  after  which  he 
stepped  forward,  and  took  his  place  at  the  head 
of  the  principal  table. 

"  My  dear  friends,"  he  began,  "  I  have  been 
asked  to  propose  the  healths,  and  I  accept  the 
invitation  with  great  pleasure.  First,  let  us 
drink  long  life,  honest  endeavor,  and  happiness 
to  the  most  important  person  present.  Here 's 
to  Master  Baby." 

"  Hurrah  !  hurrah  !  "  rang  out  the  honest 
cheers,  making  the  small  hero  start  at  first,  and 
nestle  closer  to  his  mother ;  then,  growing  accus 
tomed  to  the  sound  he  opened  his  lips  in  a  wide, 
toothless  smile,  and  added  his  tiny  gurgle  to  the 
turmoil. 

After  this,  the  names  of  the  other  members 
of  the  family  followed  in  quick  succession,  the 
cure  being  too  wise  to  do  more  than  mention 


362          A    TRANSATLANTIC    CHATELAINE. 

them,  knowing  that  the  young  feasters  were 
already  longing  for  the  games.  As  he  brought 
his  list  to  a  quick  close,  the  sacristan  rose,  and 
blushing  to  the  tips  of  his  wide-spreading  ears, 
said  in  a  voice,  unmanageable  from  shyness, 
"  There  are  two  more  healths  to  be  drunk ;  the 
first  is  to  our  good  cure." 

Again  the  cheers  burst  forth,  and  when  silence 
reigned  he  continued :  "  And  the  second  is  to 
him  who  seems  to  belong  to  us  still,  as  much  as 
when  he  lived  here,  for  I  'm  bound  there  's  not 
one  of  us,  who  in  the  old  days  knew  sickness,  or 
losses,  or  sorrow,  without  knowing  at  the  same 
time  the  kind  heart,  the  good  words,  and  the 
open  purse  of  Monsieur  Regnier.  He  has  al 
ways  been  our  friend,  my  lads,  and  here 's  to 
him." 

This  had  not  been  expected  by  the  peasants, 
and  for  a  moment  their  slow  minds  did  not 
receive  the  idea  readily ;  but  when  they  fully 
understood,  a  tumult  of  shouts  and  cries  broke 
out ;  the  men  tossed  their  hats  in  the  air,  and 
the  women  waved  their  arms  and  screamed 
shrilly.  Sylvia  tingled  with  the  excitement 
which  is  caused  by  a  touch  approaching  the 
heroic,  and  the  countess  put  her  handkerchief  to 
her  eyes.  Monsieur  Regnier,  more  surprised 
than  any  one  present,  tried  to  speak  when  the 
noise  ceased ;  there  was  a  tender  light  in  his 


A    TRANSATLANTIC    CHATELAINE.          363 

eyes,  where  a  tear  rose  slowly.  His  voice  trem 
bled  for  a  moment,  but  lie  steadied  it. 

"  Jean  Meunier  is  right  in  one  thing;  I  am 
your  friend,  but  I  want  to  confess  that  I  never 
knew  how  much  you  were  mine  until  now.  You 
have  just  given  me  a  pleasure  that  money  can 
not  buy,  that  time  cannot  steal;  and  I  thank 
you  from  my  heart.  I  will  give  you  one  more 
toast  only,  and  I  want  you  to  drink  it  rever 
ently.  Here  's  a  hopeful  future  to  the  family 
who  have  for  so  many  years  lived  in  these  old 
gray  walls.  In  days  long  past  the  counts  de  La 
Roche  protected  and  cared  for  the  little  town 
lying  at  their  gate,  and  in  war  they  fought 
side  by  side  with  the  peasants.  Let  this  feeling 
of  mutual  help  continue,  —  go  on  living  use 
ful,  honorable  lives,  and  remember  that  next  to 
our  mother,  France,  you  owe  allegiance  to  your 
count." 

Although  he  spoke  with  the  fervor  of  enthu 
siasm,  Monsieur  Regnier's  words  roused  but 
little  excitement  among  the  good  people.  They 
cheered  in  a  perfunctory  manner  because  it  was 
evidently  expected  of  them,  but  their  hearts 
were  in  the  broad  field  where  games  of  all  sorts 
awaited  them,  and  they  gladly  trooped  away. 

Madame  Lefevre,  who  had  been  pleased  ap 
parently  by  the  compliment  paid  to  her  father, 
now  spoke  to  him. 


364          A    TRANSATLANTIC    CHATELAINE. 

"  It  was  all  very  pretty,  clear  papa,  but  what 
a  blessed  opportunity  you  missed.  Surely  that 
was  the  moment  to  speak  to  them  of  their  souls 
—  not  of  fighting1." 

"  Either  was  out  of  place  at  a  feast,  Berthe, 
and  I  should  have  remembered  that  peasants  see 
but  one  thing  at  a  time.  I  must  apologize,"  he 
added,  turning  to  his  friend  the  countess,  "  for 
striking  a  false  note,  but  my  boy's  letters  stir 
me  so  just  now  that  I  am  bubbling  over  with 
patriotism." 

Philippe  gave  a  slight  laugh  which  might  have 
meant  almost  anything ;  to  Sylvia's  surprise 
he  had  behaved  in  a  most  respectful  manner 
to  Monsieur  Regnier  during  the  day,  and  she 
dreaded  any  word  from  him  that  might  wound 
the  brave  old  man.  She  did  not  appreciate  the 
admirable  deference  of  youth  to  age,  taught  and 
practiced  in  France  with  a  rigor  which  com 
mands  admiration,  and  this  being  the  first  time 
she  had  seen  the  two  men  together  she  had  pre 
pared  herself  for  possible  friction. 

Before  more  could  be  said,  Berthe  again  broke 
in :  "  Papa,  you  should  rest  now  for  a  little 
while  ;  you  look  tired." 

"  Yes,"  added  Madame  de  La  Roche.  "  Phi 
lippe  and  I  must  look  on  at  the  games  and  give 
the  prizes.  Berthe  and  Monsieur  le  cure  will 
help  us,  but  you  and  Sylvia  will  be  all  the  better 
for  a  little  quiet." 


A    TRANSATLANTIC   CHATELAINE.          365 

"  You  are  right,  as  always.  Come,  my  chate 
laine  from  over  the  seas,  let  us  go  to  the  garden, 
and  make  up  for  all  the  time  lost  through  the 
winter." 

Sylvia  went  with  him  gladly,  and  side  by  side 
they  descended  the  broad  steps  leading  to  the 
garden.  After  the  noise  and  disorder  of  the 
court,  littered  by  the  rude  chairs  and  tables,  and 
the  remains  of  the  breakfast,  the  garden  seemed 
a  very  Eden  of  quiet  and  order.  The  formally 
trained  fruit-trees  were  in  full  bloom,  and  made 
screens  of  flowers.  The  paths  were  bordered  by 
stunted  apple-trees  cut  down  to  two  feet  from 
the  ground,  and  growing  in  garland-like  branches ; 
with  their  profusion  of  pink  and  white  blossoms 
they  made  Sylvia  think  of  a  young  girl's  ball- 
dress  edged  with  a  fragrant  wreath.  The  foliage 
of  the  trees  was  scanty  as  yet,  and  the  hills  on 
the  other  side  of  the  river  could  be  plainly  seen, 
with  here  and  there  a  hawthorn  bush  looking 
like  a  puff  of  white  smoke  in  the  blue  distance. 

After  wandering  about  for  a  while  they  came 
back  to  the  cedar  and  seated  themselves.  Their 
talk,  of  a  scattered  sort  at  first,  always  came  back 
to  the  mainspring  of  Sylvia's  heart,  —  her  little 
Louis,  as  he  was  to  be  called,  after  Philippe's 
father.  They  spoke  vaguely  of  his  future,  and 
recalled  the  varied  elements  which  mingled  in  his 
small  make-up.  Sylvia  told  all  that  she  knew 


366         A    TRANSATLANTIC   CHATELAINE. 

of  her  parents'  characters,  and  they  contrasted 
the  uneventful  lives  of  the  sturdy  old  Boston 
merchants  on  the  one  side,  with  the  glittering, 
exciting  existences  of  the  counts  who  had  pre 
ceded  and  lived  through  the  reign  of  terror. 

"  Find  the  best  in  him,  and  develop  it  to  your 
utmost,"  said  Monsieur  Regnier  at  last.  "  Re 
spect  his  Anglo-Saxon  instincts,  and  trust  him  ; 
don't  keep  him  under  lock  and  key,  but  give  him 
his  head  ;  show  him  that  you  believe  in  him,  and 
leave  the  rest  with  God." 

This  talk  gave  Sylvia  cheer  and  faith,  and 
helped  her  to  face  the  future  with  a  new,  steady 
courage. 


CHAPTER   XVIII. 

IT  was  a  hot  blazing  afternoon  in  July  of  1870. 
Monsieur  Regnier  came  swinging  through  his 
shady  park,  still  vigorous  in  spite  of  his  years, 
a  picturesque  figure  in  his  buff  linen  suit,  his 
wide  hat  shading  his  bronzed  face,  and  the  ends 
of  his  gay  bandanna  cravat  fluttering  in  the 
breeze  caused  by  his  own  rapid  motion.  He  had 
been  in  his  cornfields,  and  had  superintended 
the  last  day's  work  of  getting  in  an  unusually 
good  harvest,  and  now  he  was  coming  home  to  a 
bath,  which  would  be  followed  by  a  romp  with 
his  little  grandson,  a  calm  dinner,  and  peaceful 
evening  —  for  Berthe  was  in  a  retreat  for  some 
fancied  misdemeanor.  He  could  hear  the  happy 
laughter  of  the  boy,  who  was  splashing  with 
brown  bare  legs  in  the  stream  behind  a  clump 
of  bushes  ;  the  house  lay  slumbering  in  the  sun 
shine,  the  gay  awnings  all  stretched,  and  not  a 
breath  stirring  the  ivy  on  the  walls.  The  large 
Pyrenean  sheep-dog  who  lay  before  the  open 
door  looked  at  him  with  one  sleepy  red-rimmed 
eye,  and  welcomed  his  master  with  a  few  slaps 
of  his  tail  on  the  "ravel. 


368          A    TRANSATLANTIC    CHATELAINE. 

"  Poor  Medor,  good  old  fellow  ;  you  need  not 
try  to  be  polite,  it 's  too  hot,"  said  Monsieur 
Regnier,  passing-  him. 

As  he  entered  the  cool  spacious  hall  the  butler 
came  forward  to  meet  him  with  a  telegram.  He 
tore  it  open,  and  his  genial  face  glowed  with 
delight. 

"  That  is  well,  Jacques  ;  that  is  well.  Mon 
sieur  le  capitaine  will  be  here  in  an  hour.  Order 
the  sorrel  mare  in  the  dog-cart  to  meet  him  at 
the  station.  Albert  had  better  drive,  for  I  wish 
to  prepare  things  here.  Send  Mere  Robin  to 
me  at  once." 

Then  followed  the  happy  planning  between 
the  old  housekeeper  and  her  master  ;  he  sug 
gesting  this  or  that  in  a  tentative  manner,  to  be 
met  only  by  scarcely  veiled  scorn. 

"  If  Monsieur  thought  the  captain  would  like 
a  duck  just  out  of  the  farm -yard,  tough  as  a 
board,  of  course  she  was  not  the  one  to  say  no  ; 
but  it  seemed  a  pity  not  to  use  some  of  a  seven 
weeks  old  lamb  she  had  just  ripe  for  cooking  ; 
and  as  pretty  a  little  broiler  as  any  one  ever 
saw  she  had  all  ready  for  the  master's  dinner  ; 
then  if  that  lazy  unfortunate  of  a  Jacques  would 
catch  thorn  a  fat  carp,  that  would  not  come  amiss  ; 
she  had  a  fine  melon  too  "  —  .and  so  the  dinner 
grew  to  proportions  Monsieur  Regnier  would 
never  have  dared  to  hint  at.  Then  came  the 


A    TRANSATLANTIC    CHATELAINE.  369 

cares  for  Maurice's  favorite  wines  ;  two  bottles 
of  the  choicest  were  placed  in  the  stream  to 
cool ;  and  this  occasioned  the  calling  of  young 
Maurice  from  his  dabbling  to  be  made  ready 
for  his  uncle.  A  merry,  rosy  chambermaid  pre 
pared  his  room,  much  hindered  both  by  grand 
papa  and  grandson,  who  kept  running  in  and 
out,  heedless  of  her,  with  soap,  cologne,  a  hun 
dred  little  nothings,  the  boy  giving  a  finishing 
touch  to  the  decorations  by  putting  a  woolly  lamb 
on  casters  in  the  centre  of  the  table. 

This  was  the  first  time  in  two  years  that  Mau 
rice  had  visited  La  Source,  and  all  was  in  gala 
dress  to  welcome  him.  As  he  left  the  train  at 
the  little  station,  for  him  crowded  with  memories 
of  former  home-comings,  he  looked  much  more 
changed  from  the  boyish  soldier  poet  whom  we 
saw  last  at  Trouville  than  the  lapse  of  time  war 
ranted.  He  had  grown  heavier,  and  in  conse 
quence  seemed  less  tall,  and  more  symmetrical ; 
the  old  impetuosity  of  manner  had  been  replaced 
by  one  outwardly  more  calm  and  restrained, 
but  those  who  knew  him  best  perceived  that  it 
covered  a  deeper,  more  significant  recklessness. 
Few  men  allow  their  entire  lives  to  be  ruined  by 
a  disappointment  in  love,  and  Maurice  had  too 
high  a  regard  for  his  duty  in  the  world  where 
Fate,  Chance,  or  Providence,  call  it  what  you 
will,  had  placed  him,  to  shirk  it  in  any  partic- 


370         A    TRANSATLANTIC    CHATELAINE. 

ular.  Nevertheless,  worthy  as  he  regarded  his 
position  as  one  of  the  defenders  of  his  coun 
try,  absorbing  as  his  hidden  talent  of  poetizing 
was  to  him,  underneath  his  outer  life  worked  the 
hidden  grief,  altering  him  in  many  subtle  ways, 
—  sometimes  for  the  better,  sometimes  for  the 
worse.  lie  had  been  strengthened  by  the  first 
acute  suffering  that  he  had  ever  undergone  ;  but 
at  the  same  time  he  had  been  hardened  by  the 
shock  given  him  by  Sylvia  when  he  was  deceived 
by  her  actions  into  believing  her  unworthy  of  the 
love  he  had  lavished  upon  her.  lie  had  become 
bitter,  in  short,  and  showed  it  in  his  profession 
as  a  soldier  by  proving  himself  a  stern  martinet 
to  his  men,  requiring  as  much  risk  of  life  and 
limb  from  them  as  he  himself  was  willing  to  un 
dergo  ;  and  in  his  profession  as  a  poet  by  a  tinge 
of  fatalism,  which  made  his  later  verses  more 
fascinating  but  less  wholesome  than  his  earlier 
ones. 

As  he  drove  along  the  familiar  road  this  July 
afternoon,  the  groom  found  him  strangely  silent 
and  unapproachable  ;  he  remembered  former 
visits  when  the  young  master  had  scarcely  given 
him  time  to  answer  his  eager  inquiries  for  every 
man,  woman,  child,  and  beast  at  La  Source  ; 
to-day,  after  asking  for  the  family,  the  captain 
remained  without  speaking  for  the  rest  of  the 
drive.  In  truth  he  was  wondering  a  little  at 


A    TRANSATLANTIC    CHATELAINE,          371 

himself,  and  had  a  vague  sensation  of  disap 
pointment  that  he  was  undergoing  a  dreaded 
ordeal  with  such  an  absence  of  emotion.  He 
had  looked  forward  almost  with  horror  to  going 
home,  in  spite  of  his  love  for  his  father ;  he  had 
imagined  that  being  merely  in  the  neighborhood 
of  Sylvia  would  be  distressing.  He  had  never 
forgiven  her  ;  not  because  she  had  rejected  him, 
but  because  she  had  pulled  clown  his  ideal  of 
womanhood,  never,  as  he  believed,  to  be  replaced. 
In  the  years  since  his  last  visit  to  his  father  he 
had  learned  a  difficult  and  bitter  lesson,  and  now, 
as  the  sorrel  mare  dashed  along  through  the  park, 
his  heart  beat  no  faster  when  the  old  house  came 
into  view,  and  even  the  sight  of  his  father  in 
the  doorway  brought  no  emotion  beyond  a  calm 
pleasure. 

As  a  rule  we  feel  strongly  on  one  subject  only 
at  a  time  ;  and  although  it  was  for  the  moment 
in  abeyance,  the  thought  which  made  the  blood 
tingle  in  Maurice's  veins  was  the  knowledge 
that  a  month  more  might  see  him  on  the  field 
of  battle,  defending  France.  Monsieur  Regnier 
said  not  a  word  as  his  son  leaped  from  the  dog 
cart,  but  his  outstretched  arms  and  shining  eyes 
told  of  his  welcome. 

The  silent,  eloquent  gesture  swept  away  at 
one  stroke  the  unreal  veil  of  indifference  which 
had  shrouded  Maurice's  sensations  ;  quick  and 


372          A    TRANSATLANTIC    CHATELAINE. 

vivid  came  the  realization  that  this  was  the  one 
thing  in  the  world  left  him  worth  having,  this 
unselfish,  devoted  love.  An  unexpected  lump  in 
his  throat  prevented  him  from  speaking  as  he 
jumped  to  the  ground.  At  their  last  meeting 
tears  would  have  come  readily  ;  but  after  suffer 
ing  as  bitter'as  that  through  which  Maurice  had 
gone,  tears  are  rarer  and  more  painful. 

Young  Maurice  effected  a  welcome  diversion 
by  breaking  in  on  the  sad  silence.  He  pulled 
his  tall  uncle's  coat,  and  said  triumphantly,  "  I 
am  in  knickerbockers  !  "  at  the  same  moment 
displaying  a  diminutive  expanse  of  white  duck. 

"  Well  done  !  What 's  your  tailor's  name  ? 
Some  men  in  my  regiment  may  want  to  employ 
him,"  said  Maurice  senior,  glad  of  the  chance  to 
speak  naturally. 

But  it  seemed  that  he  had  trodden  on  delicate 
ground,  for,  much  to  the  disgust  of  the  newly 
breeched,  his  mamma  had  thriftily  employed  a 
seamstress  for  the  great  occasion,  and  the  un 
happy  woman  had  pursued  her  task  under  diffi 
culties,  such  as  resolute  kicks  during  the  "  try- 
ings  on  "  and  scornful  reflections  on  her  sex  in 
more  calm,  but  yet  bitter  moments. 

Grandpapa,  who  had  sympathized  in  silence 
with  the  young  hero,  prevented  his  reply  by 
changing  the  direction  of  his  thoughts. 

"  Come,  my  boy,  you  must  take  your  uncle  to 


A    TRANSATLANTIC    CHATELAINE.  373 

his  room  and  tell  him  not  to  be  late  for  dinner. 
He  does  n't  know  yet  how  dreadfully  afraid  we 
are  of  Mere  Robin  when  mamma  is  not  here  to 
protect  us  ;  and  if  we  keep  her  soup  waiting,  we 
can  never  tell  what  may  happen." 

So  with  a  cloud  of  memory  brushed  aside, 
young  Maurice  thrust  his  hands  deep  in  his 
pockets,  and  with  much  care  led  the  way  up  the 
shallow  staircase  to  his  uncle's  room. 

"  I  '11  come  for  you  in  fifteen  minutes  to  show 
you  down,"  he  said.  As  he  spoke  he  watched 
Maurice's  face  to  see  when  the  glory  of  the  lamb 
would  burst  upon  him ;  but  as  no  remark  ap 
peared  to  be  forthcoming,  he  continued :  "  I 
have  given  you,  for  always,  my  lamb  ;  his  name 
is  Albert,  for  the  coachman.  I  love  Albert,  and 
I  am  going  to  be  a  coachman  when  I  grow  up, 
so  I  can  crack  a  whip  and  say  sapr-r-r-r-istl !  " 

"  Thank  you  a  thousand  times,"  said  Maurice, 
a  little  unsteadily,  seeing  the  boy  shut  the  door, 
leaving  him  alone  with  a  sense  of  relief. 

Then  he  sat  down  by  the  table,  put  his  head 
by  the  woolly  lamb,  and  let  a  wave  of  sorrow 
sweep  over  him ;  remorse  for  his  hard  mental 
attitude  towards  his  home  ;  a  regret  for  all  the 
regrets  that  he  had  lost ;  a  passion  of  tender 
ness  for  his  father.  He  had  allowed  a  woman 
to  interfere  with  his  love  and  friendship  for  the 
only  person  in  the  world  to  whom  he  meant 


374          .1    TRANSATLANTIC    CHATELAINE. 

everything,  —  and  what  a  woman  !  She  had 
proved  what  she  was  by  selling  herself  to  Phi 
lippe  for  his  name  ;  she  had  been  so  wanting  in 
tenderness  that  she  had  found  her  one  way  of 
rejecting  him  in  an  insult ;  and  for  her,  he  had 
spent  the  last  years,  perhaps  in  verity  the  last 
years  of  his  life,  far  from  his  father.  She  had 
been  right  in  one  thing  ;  he  was  a  coward  !  It 
had  been  fear  of  her,  of  the  suffering  she  might 
still  be  able  to  inflict  on  him,  that  had  caused  him 
to  deprive  his  father  of  the  thing  he  cared  most 
for,  his  companionship.  His  heart  had  grown 
used  to  absence,  and  habit  had  made  him  forget 
that  the  old  cling  to  the  young,  more  than  the 
young  to  the  old.  Now  the  welcome,  the  little 
attention  to  details  in  his  room,  the  ready  affec 
tion  of  the  bo.y,  almost  a  stranger  to  him,  which 
proved  how  often  he  had  been  told  of  the  absent 
soldier  ;  above  all,  the  shining,  wistful  eyes  of 
his  father  as  he  met  him  with  outstretched  hands, 
showed  him  where  he  stood  in  his  home.  His 
former  greed  for  glory  and  devotion  to  his  coun 
try  appeared  now  to  him  like  heathen  virtues, 
when  he  thought  of  the  anguish  one  bullet  might 
cause  if  it  found  him  out.  A  quarter  of  an  hour 
had  not  passed  when  he  opened  his  door  and 
went  into  the  hall,  to  find  Maurice  the  younger 
braced  against  the  wall  watching  for  him,  but 
he  had  lived  long  in  that  time. 


A    TRANSATLANTIC    CHATELAINE.          375 

"  I  was  waiting,  Uncle  Maurice,  to  see  if  Albert 
felt  quite  well ;  when  mamma  is  away  grand 
papa  lets  him  come  to  dinner  and  sit  in  her  chair; 
but  you  know  he  is  yours  now,  and  you  may  not 
think  that  is  proper  ?  " 

There  was  a  question  in  the  voice  which  quiv 
ered  slightly. 

"  Oh,  I  am  sure  it  is  proper,  and  I  want  to 
consult  you  a  little  about  Albert,"  answered 
Maurice,  returning  and  gravely  shouldering  the 
lamb.  "  You  know  I  must  go  away  in  a  few 
days,  and  probably  I  shall  be  obliged  to  live  in 
a  tent;  now  I  am  afraid  that  Albert  wouldn't 
like  a  tent." 

"  I  should  dearly ;  but  Albert  never  was  in 
such  a  thing  ;  he  might  be  scared." 

"  That  is  what  I  think,  and  I  wish  you  would 
keep  Albert  until  I  come  back,  and  call  him 
yours  ;  then  we  can  decide  about  the  future." 

"Yes,  yes,"  shouted  Maurice  junior,  in  wild 
joy  at  having  his  darling  restored.  "  Give  him, 
I'll  take  him,  and  he  may  have  some  babies  be 
fore  you  get  back,  the  guinea  pigs  do  all  the  time, 
and  then  you  can  have  a  baby  Albert." 

With  this  comforting  remark  he  hugged  the 
stiff  and  ungainly  lamb  to  his  heart,  giving  vent 
to  his  feelings  by  a  series  of  high,  shrill  yells, 
which  rather  interfered  with  the  sentimental  turn 
his  uncle's  thoughts  were  beginning  to  take. 


376  A    TRANSATLANTIC    CHATELAINE. 

They  found  Monsieur  Regnier  waiting  for 
them  in  the  dining-room,  and  the  party  of  four 
seated  themselves,  Albert  having  a  napkin  care 
fully  pinned  about  his  neck  by  the  butler. 

"  That 's  the  way  the  coachman  does,"  ex 
plained  his  young  owner ;  "  he  eats  his  soup  like 
this,  and  it  tastes  lots  better." 

He  illustrated  by  bringing  his  spoon  directly 
in  front  of  his  mouth,  the  point  aimed  at  it,  and 
his  chubby  elbow  extended  before  him  ;  the  re 
sult  was  that  his  chin  received  a  double  share, 
and  he  was  resigned  to  a  scrubbing  from  the 
butler  and  a  reprimand  from  his  grandfather 
only  by  seeing  that  they  were  both  inwardly 
amused  by  his  imitations. 

After  the  boy  had  gone  to  bed  Maurice  and 
his  father  went  out  on  to  the  terrace,  and  as 
they  sat  in  the  dim  light  of  the  stars  low  hang 
ing  like  jewels  on  the  velvet  darkness  of  the  sky 
their  talk  turned  to  grave  themes.  It  was  evi 
dent  that  a  war  was  imminent ;  and  this  prospect 
weighed  on  them,  and  made  their  words  few  and 
scattered.  Since  Maurice's  arrival  Monsieur 
Regnier  had  had  his  bad  moments  also  ;  he  had 
been  obliged  to  acknowledge  the  fact  thrust  be 
fore  his  eyes  that  Maurice  was  a  boy  no  longer. 
The  lines  about  his  mouth  and  eyes  told  of  youth 
lost  forever,  its  spirit  being  killed.  The  former 
expression  of  enthusiasm  and  pleasure  had  been 


A    TRANSATLANTIC    CHATELAINE.         377 

replaced  by  one  of  firmness  and  sombreness ;  the 
Greek  beauty  embodying  sentient  enjoyment  had 
disappeared ;  and  now  in  Maurice's  face  was 
found  evidence  of  deep  experience  and  struggles 
with  life,  giving  him  a  new  interest,  and  to  his 
father  a  deep  pathos. 

They  sat  in  the  warm  night  air,  the  silence 
broken  only  by  the  bell-like  notes  of  some  dis 
tant  tree-toads.  Monsieur  Kegnier  was  think 
ing  painfully,  and  trying  to  see  his  way  clear. 
Maurice  lighted  a  fresh  cigarette  by  his  nearly 
burnt  out  one,  and  the  ruddy  light  as  he  puffed 
at  it  made  his  face  plain  for  a  moment.  The 
glimpse  decided  his  father  ;  he  spoke  :  — 

"  You  will  soon  be  leaving  me,  my  son,  and 
we  must  steel  ourselves  to  face  the  worst."  The 
old  man's  voice  was  unshaken  now,  although  the 
joy  of  meeting  had  unmanned  him.  "  If  you 
fall,  I  should  wish  you  to  die  at  peace  with  all 
the  world  ;  are  you  prepared  for  that  ?  " 

The  deep  solemnity  of  his  father's  words  and 
manner  impressed  Maurice. 

"  I  think  I  am,  with  one  exception,"  he  an 
swered.  "  There  is  one  person  I  can  never  feel 
at  peace  with  —  one  insult  I  can  never  forgive." 

"  I  think  I  know  who  it  is,  —  the  wife  of 
Philippe." 

In  the  obscurity  Monsieur  Regnier  felt  rather 
than  saw  the  sudden  rigidity  which  seized 


378         A    TRANSATLANTIC    CHATELAINE. 

Maurice,  —  his  very  breathing'  seemed  to  have 
ceased ;  he  did  not  answer,  and  his  father  con 
tinued. 

"  Last  autumn,  when  she  too  was  facing  a 
possible  death,  she  told  me  that  if  she  died  you 
were  to  know  that  she  had  been  the  victim  of  a 
cruel  deception  regarding  you ;  that  she  could 
not  endure  the  thought  of  an  unknown  future, 
while  in  your  eyes  she  seemed  to  have  been 
actuated  by  unworthy  motives.  I  tell  you  this, 
on  the  edge  of  the  grave  in  a  way  —  and  I  trust 
you  to  respect  the  confidence." 

"  Thank  God,"  said  Maurice,  his  voice  stifled, 
the  rigidity  all  gone,  as  he  bowed  his  head  in 
his  hands. 

Monsieur  Regnier  touched  his  shoulder  gently 
as  if  afraid  even  of  so  much  sympathy. 

In  a  few  moments  the  younger  man  spoke 
again.  "  Tell  me  about  her.  Is  she  —  happy  ?  " 

"  I  think  in  a  way  that  she  is  ;  she  is  doing 
her  duty,  which  always  brings  calmness,  if  not 
something  better,  and  her  child  is  a  help  to  her. 
The  countess  is  very  fond  of  her." 

"  And  he  ?  does  he  treat  her  well  ?  " 

"  Ah,  my  boy,  we  both  know  what  Philippe 
is  —  and  we  both  know  what  Sylvia  is.  That  is 
my  answer." 

It  gave  Maurice  a  strange  thrill  to  hear  his 
father  speak  of  her  by  her  name,  and  added  con- 


A    TRANSATLANTIC    CHATELAINE.         379 

fusion  to  his  already  confused  thoughts.     This 
was  a  solemn,  a  sacramental  hour  for  him. 

"  My  father,"  he  said,  a  profound  quiet  in  his 
manner,  "  I  will,  with  God's  help,  respect  your 
confidence  in  me  ;  I  will  not  ask  you  more  about 
her,  not  even  if  she  still  has  any  love  for  me. 
You  have  given  me  great  happiness,  for  I  can 
still  believe  in  woman's  purity,  for  she  who  stood 
to  me  for  ideal  womanhood  is  once  more  on  her 
pedestal,  and  is  worthy  of  the  love  with  which  I 
honored  her.  I  must  never  see  her  again,  but  if 
I  fall  you  will  tell  her  —  everything." 

"  If  I  survive  your  death,  I  will." 

Silence  fell  again  011  them,  and  they  spoke  no 
more  that  night. 

"  I  must  never  see  her  again,"  Maurice  had 
said,  and  he  had  meant  it ;  but  destiny  willed 
otherwise.  The  next  day  he  was  by  the  brook 
rigging  a  small  boat  for  his  nephew,  while  his 
father  sat  near  looking  at  them  and  trying  to 
blot  the  dread  of  the  future  from  his  mind. 
Each  was  so  intent  on  his  occupation  that  Syl 
via's  carriage  rolled  up  the  avenue  unnoticed, 
stopped  when  it  came  to  the  point  nearest  to  the 
little  group,  and  Maurice  was  warned  of  the  ap 
proach  of  newcomers  only  by  the  boy's  shout  of 
"  The  baby,  the  baby  !  "  as  he  scampered  over 
the  grass.  Then  he  looked  up,  and  saw,  coming 
towards  him,  the  countess,  Sylvia,  and  a  woman 


380          A    TRANSATLANTIC    CHATELAINE. 

with  a  child  in  her  arms.  Sylvia  saw  him  as  in 
a  dream  at  first ;  for  a  moment  she  did  not  be 
lieve  the  evidence  of  her  eyes.  Then,  when  con 
vinced,  she  turned  swiftly  to  the  nurse,  and 
clasping  her  child  to  her  breast  with  an  instinc 
tive  desire  to  shield  herself  with  her  most  power 
ful  armor,  she  faced  the  man  whom  she  had 
cruelty  wronged,  and  whom  she  loved. 

His  skin,  browned  by  the  African  sun,  showed 
no  change  ;  but  his  face  was  tense  as  he  lifted  it 
after  kissing  the  countess's  hand.  She  and  the 
children  were  the  only  unconscious  ones  there, 
for  old  Justine's  keen  eyes  saw  much  that  lay 
beneath  the  surface. 

Monsieur  Regnier  greeted  the  countess,  who 
turned  to  him  from  his  son,  apologizing  for  hav 
ing  spoken  first  to  Maurice,  and  then  said  with 
no  sign  of  embarrassment,  "  My  son  used  to 
know  la  Chatelaine  Sylvie,  so  no  introduction  is 
necessary." 

They  both  bowed  in  silence,  and  still  with 
her  little  Louis  in  her  arms,  Sylvia  took  the  gar 
den  chair  that  some  one  offered  her,  and  listened 
as  one  afar  off  to  the  talk  between  the  others. 
At  first  she  did  not  heed  what  they  were  say 
ing.  Then  gradually  the  words  telling  of  ap 
proaching  war  came  to  her,  and  she  realized  that 
Maurice  was  here  only  to  say  farewell  to  his 
father  before  joining  his  regiment.  She  altered 


A  TRANSATLANTIC  CHATELAINE.     381 

the  baby's  position  on  her  lap,  and  as  she  did 
so  she  sent  a  swift  glance  at  the  man  who  had 
grown  so  strangely  familiar  to  her  in  spite  of 
absence,  and  for  a  moment  she  felt  a  pang  of 
disappointment.  This  stern,  composed  officer, 
whose  habits  of  authority  had  impressed  them 
selves  on  him,  was  not  the  impulsive,  enthusi 
astic  boy  who  had  lived  in  her  memory.  She 
saw  that  he  had  complete  mastery  over  himself, 
whilst  she  dared  not  trust  her  voice  to  say  the 
simplest  words. 

"  How  long  shall  you  be  here,  Maurice  ? " 
asked  Madame  de  La  Roche. 

"  I  may  be  called  away  at  any  moment,"  he 
answered.  "  I  dare  not  leave  La  Source  even 
for  an  hour,  for  I  might  miss  my  telegram." 

There  was  the  agonizing  unreality  of  a  dream 
in  the  situation  for  Sylvia  ;  the  seconds  were 
slipping  away  ;  every  heart-beat  marked  a  step 
towards  their  separation,  and  nothing  could  be 
done  but  sit  in  passive  silence. 

"  Uncle  Maurice  is  beautiful  in  his  uniform," 
announced  the  boy  in  a  loud  tone  ;  "  all  blue 
and  black  curly  fur.  I  think  I  would  rather  be 
a  soldier  than  a  coachman  after  all." 

Monsieur  Regnier  laughed,  glad  of  the  inter 
ruption,  and  the  countess  began  to  question  the 
boy.  Maurice  let  his  look  rest  for  one  moment 
on  Sylvia.  This  was  all  they  could  claim  now, 


382          A    TRANSATLANTIC    CHATELAINE. 

these  stolen  glances.  The  agitation  of  the  meet 
ing  had  driven  the  color  from  her  face,  and  her 
features  were  rigid  ;  but  all  the  old  grace  of 
form  and  movement  was  there,  and  in  spite  of 
the  evident  mask  of  impassiveness  which  she 
had  assumed  as  a  shield,  Maurice  caught  a  new 
expression  in  her  eyes :  they  seemed  deeper, 
more  womanly,  less  imperious  than  formerly. 
The  pride  and  fire  that  used  to  fascinate  him 
in  other  days  had  given  place  to  a  tender  look 
of  comprehension  and  sympathy  which  appealed 
yet  more  strongly  to  him  now.  He  vaguely 
noticed,  remembering  it  afterwards,  that  she 
had  lost  the  subtle,  mocking  air,  and  even  in 
her  silence  she  struck  him  as  less  complex. 
Manlike,  he  paid  little  attention  to  his  own 
sensations ;  he  probably  would  have  found  it 
difficult  to  express  them,  in  spite  of  his  poetic 
temperament.  For  nearly  two  years  the  memory 
of  Sylvia  had  been  as  a  festering,  hidden  wound. 
Time  was  helping  him  to  become  used  to  it ;  but 
his  whole  life  was  jarred  by  the  underlying  pain, 
and  now  he  was  free  once  more.  Experience 
which  had  softened  her  had  strengthened  him, 
and  the  bitterness  which  had  made  the  pain  was 
now  swept  away  by  his  father's  revelation  on 
the  previous  evening.  He  was,  for  the  time, 
contented  to  know  her  worthy  of  the  best  love 
of  which  he  was  capable  ;  he  was  even  recon- 


A    TRANSATLANTIC    CHATELAINE.          383 

ciled  to  her  marriage,  and  to  seeing  her  with  her 
child  in  her  arms.  He  forgot  Philippe,  and  re 
membered  only  the  fact  that  good  still  lived  in 
the  world.  And  on  that  day  he  felt  himself 
ready  to  face  death  cheerfully,  having  the  warm 
glow  of  justified  self-renunciation  at  his  heart. 
Had  all  gone  well  for  them  in  the  beginning, 
had  no  falsehood  separated  them,  they  might 
have  lived  their  lives  in  peace  and  happiness  ; 
but  the  slow  ripening  that  experience  gives 
might  never  have  been  theirs.  Rain  must  fall 
on  the  peach  as  surely  as  the  sun  must  shine 
on  it  before  it  is  perfect. 

"  The  baby  must  not  be  out  too  late,  Sylvia," 
said  the  countess.  She  felt  that  they  were  rob 
bers,  stealing  the  golden  moments  of  these  last 
days  from  father  and  son. 

"  Order  the  carriage,  Justine,"  said  Sylvia. 

They  were  the  first  words  that  she  had  uttered, 
and  she  spoke  now  with  an  effort.  Her  mother- 
in-law  saw  that  she  was  pale,  and  fancied  that 
she  felt  ill,  but  tactfully  did  not  speak  of  it. 
A  few  more  nothings  were  said,  and  then  the 
carriage  was  heard.  The  countess  rose,  and 
taking  Monsieur  Regnier's  arm,  walked  slowly 
across  the  lawn  ;  Justine  held  out  her  arms  for 
the  baby,  and  then  followed,  little  Maurice  at 
her  side,  and  they  were  alone.  Sylvia  tried  to 
speak ;  she  wanted  to  say  two  words  only  — 


384          A    TRANSATLANTIC    CHATELAINE. 

"  Forgive  me "  —  but  she  could  not.  It  was 
not  pride  that  stopped  her,  it  was  a  tightening 
of  the  throat.  Still  she  seemed  in  a  nightmare, 
unable  to  awake,  and  Maurice's  eyes,  reproach 
ful  and  sorrowful  she  thought  them,  were  crush 
ing  her  to  earth.  The  idea  came  to  her  that 
hell  must  be  like  this,  with  all  the  capacities  for 
suffering  and  making  others  suffer,  with  no  power 
to  resist. 

Maurice  saw  how  agitated  she  was,  and  he 
had  the  key  of  the  situation  ;  but  he  could  only 
trust  himself  to  say  one  short  sentence :  "  We 
are  friends  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  she  whispered,  her  head  bowed. 

They  stood  silent,  motionless  for  a  moment, 
then  she  turned  away,  and  he  followed.  One  has 
seen  mourners  come  away  from  a  freshly  filled 
grave  with  the  same  gestures,  the  same  looks  ; 
and  these  two,  this  man  and  this  woman,  had  in 
truth  just  buried  their  past  and  their  passions. 
Monsieur  Regnier  felt  the  significance  of  the  in 
terview.  He  had  a  double  sorrow  at  the  sight 
of  the  suffering  under  his  eyes,  and  as  he  sat 
alone  by  the  little  stream  after  the  others  had  all 
gone,  he  prayed  with  his  whole  being  that  this 
might  indeed  be  the  ending,  and  that  the  future 
might  have  in  store  no  remorse,  even  if  it  prom 
ised  no  joy. 

When  the  carriage  reached   the   park   limit, 


A    TRANSATLANTIC    CHATELAINE.          385 

Sylvia  left  the  others,  and  said  that  she  would 
walk  home.  She  wished  to  be  alone  for  a  while 
before  facing  Philippe.  A  calm,  full  of  a  sad 
ness  which  was  not  all  pain,  had  succeeded  to 
the  racked  feelings  of  the  past  hour :  she  was 
like  a  tired  child,  worn  out  with  excitement. 
When  she  reached  the  garden,  deserted  even  by 
the  gardeners  to-day,  she  sat  down  on  a  bench 
and  soft  tears  began  to  flow.  It  was  a  luxury  to 
cry,  hardly  knowing  why.  She  bent  her  head 
in  her  hands,  and  sobbed  gently,  without  vio 
lence.  Some  slight  movement  caught  her  at 
tention,  and  lifting  her  head  she  saw  Justine 
looking  at  her,  her  eyes  like  those  of  some  dumb 
animal.  When  her  mistress  stirred  she  threw 
herself  on  her  knees  before  her,  and  gave  way 
to  her  distress. 

"  Oh,  madame,  oh,  my  lamb,  mine  ever  since 
you  were  a  baby,  it  cuts  me  to  my  poor  old 
heart  that  you  should  suffer,  and  it  is  all  my 
fault  —  all  —  all.  I  told  you  that  in  France 
things  were  different  —  that  French  hearts  were 
not  cold  like  those  in  your  country  —  that  honor 
came  first  —  and  I  lied,  for  it  is  bad,  bad  all 
through  here  —  and  you  suffer,  my  baby,  my 
little  lamb ;  you,  who  are  worth  them  all." 

Sylvia  was  startled  by  this  outbreak.  Since 
the  day  when  she  had  burst  forth,  having  heard 
Philippe  call  her  a  spy,  the  old  woman  had  gone 


,'>8G          A    TRANSATLANTIC    CHATELAINE. 

stolidly  on  her  way,  showing  her  devotion  more 
by  acts  than  words,  and  her  mistress  had  hoped 
that  the  whole  affair  was  forgotten  in  the  new 
interest  brought  by  the  baby.  But  Justine  had 
marked  Sylvia's  pallor  that  afternoon  at  La 
Source.  She  found  her  in  tears,  and  she  felt  with 
renewed  agony  that  she,  deceived  herself,  had 
helped  to  deceive  the  idol  of  her  earthly  love. 

The  countess  laid  her  hand  on  the  bent,  heav 
ing  shoulders,  and  said :  "  My  poor  Justine,  it 
is  not  your  fault,  dear  heart,  it  is  my  own  if  I 
suffer.  Every  one  must  bear  the  burden  of  his 
own  failures,  and  you  must  not  grieve  for  me. 
You  have  been  a  mother  to  me,  and  I  want  your 
love,  not  your  tears." 

Sylvia's  own  voice  nearly  gave  way ;  the  faith 
ful  sympathy  touched  her  deeply. 

Justine  rose,  drying  her  eyes.  "  I  am  forget 
ting  my  errand  ;  Monsieur  le  comte  is  called  to 
Paris,  and  wishes  to  bid  Madame  la  comtesse 
good-by." 

As  she  followed  her  mistress  towards  the 
chateau  her  brain  was  at  work.  She  saw  but 
one  object  in  life  worth  attaining,  Sylvia's  hap 
piness.  Her  perception,  sharpened  by  her  de 
votion,  had  found  out  the  secret,  so  carefully 
concealed.  She  had  divined  what  lay  beneath 
the  surface.  And  now  there  was  coming  a 
glimmer  of  hope  to  her.  The  count  was  called 


A    TRANSATLANTIC    CHATELAINE.  387 

to  take  his  place  with  his  regiment.  War  was 
coming,  battles,  fighting ;  why  should  there  not 
be  a  ball  waiting  for  him  ?  Time  would  show, 
and  in  the  mean  time  the  saints  were  good  and 
answered  prayers  —  sometimes. 

Sylvia  found  Philippe  ready  for  instant  de 
parture  ;  he  was  giving  orders  to  Pierre.  The 
old  butler  was  to  be  at  the  head  of  things,  dur 
ing  the  absence  of  Marcel,  who  accompanied  his 
master. 

The  countess  was  listening,  the  light  of  enthu 
siasm  in  her  eyes  making  her  look  like  another 
woman.  When  Pierre  turned  away,  leaving 
the  three  alone,  she  took  Philippe's  hand. 

"  My  son,  thank  God  for  the  chance  He  holds 
out  to  you  ;  you  have  it  in  your  own  hands  to 
add  honor  and  glory  to  your  name ;  see  that 
you  do  it.  Our  country  needs  you,  my  boy; 
fight  for  her ;  give  her  your  best ;  redeem  your 
past.  If  you  fall,  leave  a  name  that  your  son 
will  reverence ;  a  name  that  will  spur  him  on 
to  great  deeds  on  his  part." 

"  Yes,  yes,  my  noble  Roman  matron,  I  will 
come  home  with  my  shield,  or  on  it,  I  promise 
you ;  but  there  is  no  time  for  talk  now ;  I  must 
hurry.  Remember,  if  the  horses  are  required, 
try  to  hide  my  hunter  ;  I  can't  hope  to  find  one 
like  him  every  day  in  the  week.  Now  good-by ; 
good-by,  Sylvia  —  where  's  the  boy  ?  " 


388  A    TRANSATLANTIC    CHATELAINE. 

The  nurse  was  holding  the  baby  in  the  court, 
and  Philippe,  with  a  hasty  kiss  to  mother,  wife, 
and  child,  jumped  into  the  dog-cart,  and  laying 
his  whip  over  the  plunging  horse's  back,  dashed 
under  the  arch  and  was  gone. 

As  the  sound  of  the  wheels  died  away,  Sylvia 
thought,  "  It  may  be  for  the  last  time  ;  I  may 
never  see  him  again  ;  O  my  God,  help  me  not 
to  wish  it." 

The  countess,  who  had  stood  fixed  as  a  statue 
since  her  last  words,  turned  to  her  son's  wife, 
suddenly  looking  very  old.  "  My  dear,"  she 
said,  "  it  may  be  that  this  is  the  opportunity 
God  has  given  him  ;  let  us  go  and  pray  for  it." 

The  two  women,  wife  and  mother,  descended 
to  the  chapel,  and  each  prayed  after  her  own 
manner.  For  the  moment  Sylvia  felt  that  she 
could  forgive  Philippe  everything  if  he  gave  her 
son  an  inheritance  of  honor. 


CHAPTER  XIX. 

THE  year  of  1870,  tragic  and  disastrous  to 
France,  strode  on  with  unfaltering  step.  The 
Empire,  gay,  glittering,  brilliant  as  it  had  been, 
suddenly  was  no  more.  Like  a  soap  bubble  it 
had  floated,  bounded,  danced  before  the  daz 
zled  eyes  of  the  people.  One  day  it  jostled 
against  something  else  that  was  round  too,  but 
also  heavy  and  black  —  a  Prussian  cannon  ball 
—  and  instead  of  the  beautiful  spectacle  the 
people  saw  nothing ;  the  mist  in  their  eyes  came 
from  the  nation's  tears.  But  although  the  Em 
pire  was  no  more,  France  remained ;  and  from 
every  hamlet,  rough  thatched  cottage,  nay,  from 
the  very  caves  in  the  rocks,  rose  her  sons  to 
defend  her.  Frenchmen  love  their  country  with 
a  steady,  wholesome  affection.  They  are  in 
love  with  Paris,  which  to  them  represents  all 
the  fascination  which  this  world  is  capable  of 
giving. ,  When  their  queen  was  invested  by  the 
invading  forces,  and  lay  helpless,  surrounded 
by  enemies,  anxiety  changed  to  frenzy.  A  new 
army  arose  like  magic  along  the  line  of  the 
Loire,  and  revived  the  fainting  hope  of  the 


390          A    TRANSATLANTIC    CHATELAINE. 

nation  by  wresting  Orleans  from  the  Germans. 
From  this  army  came  an  effort  to  relieve  the 
capital,  only  seventy-five  miles  away,  through  a 
combined  movement :  a  sortie  from  within,  and 
an  attack  from  without  upon  the  same  point 
of  the  ring  of  investment.  All  communication 
with  the  hapless  city  by  land  or  water  was  cut 
off ;  only  the  air  remained,  and  it  proved  a 
fickle  element  to  the  besieged.  Notice  of  the 
hour  at  which  the  sortie  would  be  made  was 
sent  out  from  Paris  to  the  army  of  succor  four 
days  in  advance,  by  balloon.  How  many  hopes 
and  fears  followed  its  flight  through  the  air 
into  cloudland !  Alas,  it  was  swept  by  contrary 
winds  into  Norway.  The  sortie,  made  without 
the  expected  cooperation,  failed  miserably,  and 
the  army  of  the  Loire,  attacking  too  late,  was 
broken  into  pieces. 

The  histories  of  that  unhappy  time  give  one 
the  impression  of  reading  in  a  nightmare. 
Every  other  paragraph  begins  with  a  useless  If; 
"  if "  such  and  such  things  had  not  happened, 
the  French  would  have  been  victorious ;  but 
such  and  such  things  did  happen,  and  the  Prus 
sians  made  steady  progress.  Again  did  a  new 
army  arise,  and  yet  another  effort  was  made  to 
free  the  beleaguered  capital.  Under  the  com 
mand  of  Chanzy,  the  new  levies  marched  up 
from  Blois  along  the  right  bank  of  the  Loire 


A    TRANSATLANTtC    CHATELAINE.  o91 

to  meet  the  Germans  under  Prince  Frederic 
Charles.  Again  was  there  sharp  fighting  before 
Orleans,  and  again  did  the  French  make  head 
way  against  the  invaders. 

These  victories,  and  the  elastic  courage  innate 
in  the  French  character,  responded  vigorously 
to  the  encouragement  received.  The  underlying 
romance  of  their  nature  recalled  to  them  that 
France  was  in  still  greater  straits  when  a  maid 
came  forth  from  the  mists  of  obscurity  and  de 
livered  her  country,  leaving  behind  her  an  image 
unequaled  in  history  in  its  supernatural  dis 
tinctness.  Once  more  they  rallied,  and  among 
the  voices  that  rang  the  clearest  with  words 
of  enthusiasm  and  determination  was  that  of 
Maurice  Regnier.  In  spite  of  his  dash  and 
energy,  he  had  so  far  escaped  wounds  and  im 
prisonment. 

The  fresh  army  was  in  a  position  to  aid  a  new 
sortie  from  Paris,  and  all  eyes  in  its  ranks  were 
turned  skywards  in  search  of  another  messenger 
from  their  capital.  Without  such  cooperation 
nothing  could  be  accomplished.  The  Red  Prince 
was  before  them  in  superior  numbers,  and  only 
by  heroic  courage  and  much  loss  had  headway 
been  made  against  him.  While  Chanzy  rested 
for  a  moment  on  the  right  bank  of  the  Loire, 
ready  for  a  dash  through  the  opposing  forces 
if  the  word  should  be  given,  the  Prussian  was 


392          A    TRAXSATLAXTJC    CHATELAINE. 

stealthily  moving  a  reserve  division  of  twenty 
thousand  men  down  the  opposite  bank  to  cross 
in  the  rear  of  the  French  and  encompass  him, 
as  at  Sedan  and  Metz  and  Paris,  following,  as 
always,  the  fatal  coiling  tactics  of  the  boa.  The 
bridge  over  the  Loire  at  Blois  had  been  cut,  and 
the  Prussian  move  having  been  made  known, 
Maurice  was  sent  to  post  a  detachment  of  troops 
to  prevent  the  crossing  at  Amboise,  twenty  miles 
below,  towards  which  the  division  was  marching. 
They  must  be  blocked  at  any  cost.  It  was  a  wild 
wintry  day,  and  as  Maurice  at  the  head  of  his 
troops  had  ridden  in  the  early  morning  across 
the  dreary  country  lying  between  Vendome  and 
the  Loire,  the  wind  swept  over  the  open  plains 
in  uninterrupted  brutal  triumph,  now  and  then 
adding  to  the  discomfort  of  the  riders  by  veering 
suddenly,  bringing  a  storm  of  loose  sand  against 
their  faces. 

Unconsciously  Maurice  had  likened  it,  in  its 
fury,  to  the  enemy  against  whom  he  was  fighting 
with  the  last  desperate  hope  that  despair  sends 
ahead  to  make  the  end  yet  more  bitter.  A  thou 
sand  thoughts  unconnected  with  warfare  came 
into  his  head  as  he  drew  near  the  familiar  place. 
There,  across  the  river,  lay  La  Roche  ;  whether 
Sylvia  was  still  there  he  knew  not ;  not  so  far 
away  on  the  same  side  was  his  own  home,  and  the 
impossibility  of  stopping  there  for  even  a  mo- 


A    TRANSATLANTIC    CHATELAINE.          393 

ment  weighed  on  him  gloomily.  Although  he  was 
ignorant  of  it,  Sylvia  had  remained  at  the  chateau 
with  the  older  countess ;  the  younger  men-ser 
vants  had  been  drafted,  the  women  had  left  from 
fright,  and  the  horses  had  been  given  up,  so  only 
old  Pierre  the  butler  and  Justine  remained  with 
them. 

Madame  de  La  Roche  had  signified  firmly  her 
intention  of  staying  in  her  home.  "  It  has  shel 
tered  me  for  many  a  year,  and  even  my  presence 
may  be  some  restraint  if  the  Prussians  take  pos 
session  ;  but  you,  Sylvia,  had  better  take  the  boy 
and  go  to  some  safer  place." 

But  Sylvia  was  as  staunch  as  her  mother-in- 
law.  "  We  must  hold  it  as  far  as  we  can  for 
little  Louis,"  she  said ;  and  so  day  after  day 
they  pursued  their  peaceful  way,  the  quiet  of 
their  lives  broken  only  by  the  reports,  distressing 
in  their  unreliability,  of  the  svar,  and  at  times 
by  the  far-away  boom  of  the  cannon.  Madame 
de  La  Roche  devoted  herself  more  than  ever  to 
the  peasant  women,  who  remained  at  home  to 
care  for  the  aged,  the  infirm,  and  the  children, 
for  the  men  were  with  the  army.  Sylvia  took 
all  the  care  of  the  baby,  leaving  Justine  to  help 
Pierre  with  household  duties.  In  spite  of  the 
monotony  of  her  days,  she  was  more  peaceful  than 
she  had  been  since  the  first  weeks  of  her  married 
life.  Philippe  was  with  the  beleaguered  forces 


,394  A    TRANSATLANTIC    CHATELAINE. 

in  Paris  ;  at  last  he  was  in  a  position  of  which 
she  could  be  proud.  He  was  suffering  for  his 
country,  and  in  her  eyes  one  deed  of  heroism 
blotted  out  years  of  ignoble  conduct.  She  could 
talk  to  her  boy  of  his  father  now,  without  feeling 
like  a  hypocrite.  So  she  taught  little  Louis  to 
say  Papa,  and  showed  him  Philippe's  portrait. 
The  year-old  child  varied  his  more  unintelligi 
ble  remarks  with  liberal  papas,  to  his  grand 
mother's  great  delight.  She,  poor  soul,  was  not 
Spartan  where  her  only  son  was  concerned,  and 
secretly  resented  Sylvia's  attitude,  which  she 
divined  in  some  subtle  way. 

Between  these  two  women  there  was  mutual 
love  and  respect ;  but  the  close  intimacy  of  their 
present  lives  showed  clearly  that  a  barrier  existed, 
and  always  would  exist,  between  them.  It  might 
have  been  the  result  either  of  race,  creed,  or  tem 
perament  ;  perhaps  a  combination  of  all  three ; 
and  there  it  stood,  solid,  impenetrable,  never 
yielding  to  circumstances.  But  a  strong  bond 
made  them  cleave  one  to  the  other :  their  love 
for  the  child,  who  grew  sturdy  and  rosy,  and 
laughed  when  he  heard  the  distant,  sullen  roar 
of  the  cannon,  trying  to  imitate  it. 

For  the  second  time  in  her  life  Sylvia  followed 
in  imagination  the  progress  of  two  hostile  forces 
with  vital  interest.  Her  heart  beat  as  warmly 
for  her  adopted  country  as  it  had  for  her  father- 


A  TRANSATLANTIC  CHATELAINE.    395 

land.  Once  more  she  turned  with  sickening 
eagerness  to  the  list  of  killed  and  wounded  after 
an  engagement.  Ah,  those  were  moments  to 
make  young  women  old  —  to  teach  unaccustomed 
lips  to  utter  real  prayers.  And  every  day  the 
incense  of  supplication  arose  from  the  inmates 
of  the  grim  old  castle  by  the  river,  but  with  it 
mingled  a  dark  smoke,  not  sweet-smelling  surely 
to  the  saints  —  for  night  after  night  when  her 
day's  work  was  completed,  old  Justine  demanded 
the  death  of  her  master  and  the  freedom  of  her 
mistress. 

Maurice  had  completed  his  arrangements  at 
the  farther  end  of  the  Amboise  bridge,  and  had 
given  all  necessary  directions  to  the  officer  to  be 
left  in  command,  when  the  westering  sun  warned 
him  that  if  he  wished  to  reach  headquarters  that 
night  he  must  start  at  once.  Even  as  it  was, 
the  last  half  of  his  journey  would  be  in  dark 
ness.  In  December,  evening  falls  early  and 
suddenly  upon  Touraine.  He  was  joined  by  a 
brother  officer,  who  was  on  his  way  from  Tours 
to  headquarters  with  a  handful  of  troops;  and 
having  mounted  their  scarcely  rested  horses, 
they  began  their  journey  up  the  right  river  bank. 
The  road  lay  over  some  low  hills ;  the  wind  was 
in  their  faces,  and  bitterly  cold.  The  clouds, 
which  all  day  had  rolled  in  serried  ranks  across 
the  sky,  cleared  towards  the  west,  showing  a 


396          A    TRANSATLANTIC    CHATELAINE. 

wide  band  of  clear,  pale  green ;  when  the  sun 
reached  this  open  space  a  sudden  glory  spread 
in  broad,  level  stretching  beams  over  the  land 
scape,  turning  the  dull  gray  of  the  leafless  trees 
to  dusky  purple,  and  glittering  in  the  windows 
of  La  Roche,  which  lay  just  opposite  the  riders, 
across  the  river.  Without  checking  his  steady 
trot,  Maurice,  from  the  instinct  of  long  habit, 
let  his  eyes  wander  with  half  conscious  admira 
tion  over  the  transfigured  scene.  As  he  looked 
he  saw  something  which  caused  him  to  draw  his 
breath  sharply ;  it  was  a  mere  speck  against  the 
sullen  sky,  touched  by  the  rays  of  the  sun ;  not 
a  bird  —  its  course  was  too  steady  for  that.  It 
grew  larger  rapidly,  increasing  in  size  even  in  the 
brief  space  between  seeing  and  speaking  of  it. 

"  Look,"  said  Maurice. 

His  companion  followed  the  direction  of  his 
gaze,  and  he  too  was  moved.  The  two  men  drew 
rein,  and  halted  on  the  upland,  the  patient  horses 
hanging  their  heads.  No  word  was  spoken  ;  the 
moment  was  too  full  of  hopes  and  fears  for 
speech.  In  the  dark  object,  apparently  motion 
less,  but  steadily  growing  more  and  more  dis 
tinct,  might  be  hanging,  between  heaven  and 
earth,  the  last  chance  for  France.  It  might  bring 
the  long  expected  word  from  Paris  of  another 
sortie  ;  it  might  mean  victory.  So  motionless 
sat  the  two  officers  that  they  might  have  bren 


A    TRANSATLANTIC   CHATELAINE.          397 

mistaken  for  carven  statues,  had  not  the  tossing 
manes  of  the  horses  given  a  touch  of  life. 

Now  the  balloon  was  so  near  that  the  hanging 
car  could  be  distinguished.  Blow,  good  wind,  it 
has  proved  a  friend  after  all ! 

At  last  Maurice  spoke  :  "  I  can't  make  out 
what  their  course  is.  As  they  are  going  now 
they  will  be  over  the  Prussians  in  another  five 
minutes." 

"  No,  they  won't  ;  they  are  keeping  straight 
down  the  river,"  returned  the  other  ;  "  they  are 
making  for  Tours." 

"  Look  at  the  curve  in  the  river,  and  you  will 
see  what  I  mean." 

As  Maurice  spoke  he  pointed  down  to  where 
the  Loire  makes  a  turn  from  right  to  left,  "  an 
elbow,"  the  country  folk  call  it ;  and  towards 
this  turn  swept  the  balloon. 

"  They  are  coming  down,  they  are  trying  to 
land  !  "  exclaimed  the  officer,  and  the  handful  of 
men  behind  gave  way  to  their  intense  interest. 

"  They  will  want  us  to  fasten  the  cord  ;  they 
must  see  us  now.  Four  of  you  dismount,  and 
be  ready  to  catch  the  rope  they  will  let  down. 
Look  alive,  now  !  "  commanded  Maurice  impa 
tiently,  as  the  soldiers,  stiff  with  cold  and  long 
riding,  stumbled  awkwardly  forward. 

As  he  had  said,  a  trailing  rope  was  let  down 
from  the  car  :  it  was  so  near  now  that  the  heads 


398          A    TRANSATLANTIC    CHATELAINE. 

of  its  occupants  could  be  easily  seen  peering  over 
the  edge  ;  lower  and  lower  it  came  in  a  long 
slanting  line,  directly  towards  the  soldiers  :  Mau 
rice  measured  its  progress  with  his  eye. 

"  A  little  farther  back  !  "  he  shouted.  "  For 
God's  sake  secure  it!  " 

The  cords  were  not  ten  feet  above  their  heads. 
Maurice  looked  up,  full  into  the  pale  face  and 
starting  eyes  of  Philippe  de  La  Roche.  At  that 
moment  the  treacherous  wind  veered,  and  with 
sudden,  uncontrollable  fury  caught  the  balloon 
in  its  grip  as  if  it  were  a  feather,  tossed  it  side 
ways  from  the  uplifted  hands  of  the  men,  and 
swept  it  across  the  river,  over  the  enemy's  forces. 
At  first  the  disappointment  was  so  keen  and  bit 
ter  that  only  the  groans  and  oaths  of  the  soldiers 
were  audible.  Then  Maurice  said,  "  They  may 
even  yet  sweep  over  the  Prussians,  and  get  round 
to  Tours  ; "  but  as  he  spoke  a  scattering  fire 
of  rifle-shots  was  heard  from  across  the  river. 
They  saw  the  balloon  sway  violently,  right  itself, 
waver,  and  then  sink  rapidly  behind  the  trees 
on  the  verge  of  the  forest. 

"  All  is  lost,"  said  the  officer,  lifting  his  hand 
and  letting  it  fall  heavily  with  a  tragic  gesture. 

Maurice  did  not  answer  ;  his  brain  was  pre 
senting  a  vivid  series  of  pictures  to  him  ;  he 
looked  earnestly  down  at  the  river  below.  The 
water  showed  its  inky  blackness  between  huge 


A    TRANSATLANTIC    CHATELAINE.          399 

blocks  of  ice,  which  were  crashing  and  crowding 
on  their  seaward  way  ;  at  this  point  where  the 
course  turned,  the  current  whirled  them  across 
from  the  right  to  the  left  bank,  where  they 
shocked  against  the  stable  ice  making  out  from 
shore,  and  rested  a  moment  until  again  jostled 
on.  He  might  succeed  in  crossing  the  dangerous 
centre  of  the  current  in  safety.  Beyond  this 
death-like  flood  was  a  hope,  perhaps  the  last,  of 
saving  France.  He  did  not  hesitate  after  his 
plan  had  formed  itself. 

"  All  is  not  lost  yet,"  he  said,  rousing  from 
his  reflections,  and  replying  to  his  companion's 
last  words,  which  he  seemed  to  have  just  heard. 

"  How  do  you  know  ?  We  are  helpless  — 
everything  seems  to  combine  against  us.  Once 
let  those  rascals  over  there  get  hold  of  the  poor 
fellows,  and  it  is  good-by  to  them  and  to  hope." 

"  Listen  to  me,"  said  Maurice,  kindling.  "  I 
know  one  of  the  men  in  the  balloon,  and  he  is  as 
familiar  with  every  inch  of  the  country  about 
here  as  I  am.  If  any  one  can  escape,  he  can." 

"  What  good  will  that  do  him  if  he  has  plans 
of  a  sortie  ?  He  may  escape  from  them,  but  he 
can't  reach  us." 

"  I  think  I  may  reach  him,  though." 

"  How  ?  You  can't  cross  the  bridge  at  Am- 
boise ;  and  look  at  the  river." 

"  There  is  my  hope !  "  exclaimed  Maurice. 


400          A    TRANSATLANTIC    CHATELAINE. 

"  You  are  mad,  Regnier ;  you  would  be  crushed 
between  the  iee  before  you  had  gone  ten  feet ; 
you  are  too  valuable  a  man  to  risk  your  life  need 
lessly  ;  I  must  beg  you  to  consider  the  danger." 

"  The  only  danger  I  consider  is  that  of  fail 
ure  ;  we  have  been  prudent  too  long  in  this  un 
happy  war  —  now  it  must  be  neck  or  nothing. 
Come  on,  old  fellow,  and  I  '11  explain  my  plan." 

As  he  spoke  he  turned  his  horse's  head  to  the 
right,  and  went  down  a  stony  lane  leading  to 
the  river  bank.  By  this  time  only  the  highest 
branches  of  the  trees  were  touched  by  the  sun  : 
in  another  fifteen  minutes  it  would  be  dark. 
The  little  band  followed  Maurice,  and  clustered 
about  him  as  he  halted  close  by  the  stream.  In 
the  hollow  they  were  more  protected  from  the 
wind,  but  the  air  was  full  of  the  strange,  swish 
ing  noise  made  by  the  floating  ice.  Maurice  had 
told  his  companion  what  he  intended  attempting 
on  their  way  down,  and  now  there  was  but  one 
more  word  to  be  spoken.  He  dismounted,  and 
busied  himself  with  unbuckling  his  spurs  while 
he  said,  "  If  I  never  come  back  you  will  see  my 
father  for  me  ?  " 

"  Of  course." 

"  Tell  him  why  I  went,  and  that  my  last 
thought  was  of  him." 

The  officer  could  not  answer,  but  he  patted 
Maurice  gently  on  the  shoulder.  An  act  of  hero- 


A    TRANSATLANTIC    CHATELAINE.          401 

ism,  even  in  heroic  epochs,  never  fails  to  touch 
some  underlying  string  which  responds  to  it. 
While  hearts  beat  warm  and  fast  at  such  deeds, 
there  is  good  in  the  world.  The  one  moment  of 
emotion  passed,  Maurice  became  practical  again. 
He  filled  his  flask  from  his  friend's,  taking  first 
a  long  drink  to  offset  the  cold.  He  gave  neces 
sary  directions  about  their  further  journey  to 
headquarters  ;  he  pointed  out  a  farmhouse  where 
his  horse  was  to  be  left  in  case  he  needed  him 
later  —  and  all  this  time,  in  the  gathering  gloom, 
the  spectral  ice  came  crashing  on  ;  some  of  the 
cakes  lodged  for  a  time  against  the  projecting 
bank. 

"I  think  it  is  dark  enough  now,"  said  Maurice. 

"  It  will  be  as  black  as  midnight  in  ten 
minutes,"  said  the  other. 

"  Well,  then,  here  goes  ;  here  's  a  block  that 
may  carry  me.  Good-by,  old  man." 

"  Good-by,  and —  and  "  —  The  sentence  was 
never  finished  ;  there  are  times  when  words  seern 
impertinent. 

Stamping  through  the  thin  layer  of  ice  formed 
over  the  shelving  sand  by  the  bank,  Maurice 
plunged  into  the  black  water,  staggering  a  little 
as  the  floating  ice  knocked  against  him  ;  the 
large  block  he  had  picked  out  was  coming  rather 
slowly  on  the  edge  of  the  current,  but  the  bed 
of  the  river  sank  suddenly  just  at  that  point,  and 


402  A    TRANSATLANTIC    CHATELAINE. 

he  was  breast  high  in  the  stream  before  he  could 
clutch  the  edge  nearest  him.  His  grasp  did  not 
stay  its  course,  and  he  was  carried  on  into  deeper 
water ;  there,  he  managed  to  slide  on  to  the  rough 
surface  ;  the  cold  penetrated  to  his  very  heart ; 
he  burnt  with  it,  and  his  physical  sufferings  be 
came  intense,  lying  there,  the  bitter  wind  sweep 
ing  over  him,  his  drenched  clothing  freezing  rap 
idly  ;  but  under,  and  over,  and  round  the  pain 
rose  a  paean  of  triumph  from  his  soul.  This  was 
his  chance,  and  he  had  bad  the  strength  to  seize 
it.  Death  was  naught,  honor  much.  His  innate 
bravery  and  high  spirits  rose  with  the  sense  of 
adventure.  The  previous  years  of  gloom  and 
disappointment  had  subdued  but  not  killed  his 
natural  buoyancy,  and  in  this  moment  of  peril 
it  rose  to  the  surface.  He  half  turned  on  his 
novel  raft  and  waved  a  triumphant  farewell  to 
the  shadowy  forms  on  the  shore.  Then  he  began 
to  take  keen  note  of  the  direction  in  which  he 
was  advancing.  He  was  still  on  the  edge  of  the 
current  farthest  from  the  other  shore  ;  he  must 
alter  this.  He  began  to  make  the  motions  of 
swimming  with  his  feet,  guiding  the  float  always 
to  his  left.  Slowly  he  attained  the  centre,  and 
then,  inch  by  inch,  he  gained  the  further  limit, 
making  his  way  carefully  through  the  floating 
floes.  It  was  hard  work,  but  the  icy  chill  was 
lessened  by  his  exertions.  At  last  he  had  steered 


A    TRANSATLANTIC    CHATELAINE.  403 

himself  so  that  he  was  being  swept  directly  to 
wards  a  bar  of  sand  that  made  out  from  shore  ; 
it  was  covered  with  a  brittle  coating  of  ice,  and 
in  the  dusk  Maurice  could  not  tell  exactly  what 
it  was  ;  but  he  saw  that  it  was  stable,  and  he 
felt  that,  if  he  once  managed  to  get  behind  it,  he 
could  reach  the  land.  The  block  bearing  him 
swirled  through  the  calmer  water  and  came  with 
a  slight  shock  against  the  soft  sand.  By  this 
time  he  felt  numb  with  cold,  and  his  legs  almost 
refused  to  bear  him  when  he  had  torn  away  from 
the  ice  to  which  his  clothes  were  frozen. 

As  he  staggered  along,  crashing  the  thin  cover 
ing  of  ice,  for  one  moment  his  spirits  faltered. 
It  was  the  sight  of  a  light  shining  from  behind  a 
low  clump  of  bare,  stunted  willows,  which  caused 
him  to  stop  and  wonder  if  his  perilous  journey 
had  been  in  vain.  It  had  never  occurred  to 
him  that  the  Prussians  would  think  it  neces 
sary  to  set  a  watch  by  the  river,  but  the  wavering 
flame  made  him  cautious.  He  would  creep  up, 
and  perhaps  he  might  escape  under  cover  of  the 
bushes. 

But  as  he  made  this  resolve  the  light  came 
towards  him,  and  to  his  relief  he  saw  it  was  a 
torch  held  aloft  by  an  old  woman  whose  wrinkled 
yellow  face,  and  skinny,  half -bare  arms  were 
shown  in  its  flicker.  The  wind  carried  its  flame 
in  a  long  line  of  fire  and  smoke  at  right  angles 


404  A    TRANSATLANTIC    CHATELAINE. 

to  its  support,  and  blew  the  gray  hair  and  flut 
tering  garments  of  the  old  peasant  in  a  thousand 
ways. 

As  Maurice  came  within  the  radius  of  the 
blaze,  she  turned  towards  him,  waving  one  with 
ered  arm.  "Have  you  seen  her?"  she  asked. 
"  Have  you  seen  my  little  Marie,  the  youngest 
of  them  all  ?  You  who  rise  out  of  the  water  surely 
have  a  message  for  me." 

Maurice  drew  himself  painfully  on  to  the  bank, 
and  seating  himself  began  to  rub  his  well-nigh 
frozen  feet.  "  No,  mother,"  he  said,  "  I  have 
seen  no  one.  Who  is  it  you  want  ?  " 

"  My  baby,  the  youngest  of  them  all.  When 
Denis  went  off  to  fight  he  gave  her  to  me  ;  he 
said  I  must  care  for  her,  now  that  his  wife  was 
dead.  And  she  came  to  play  by  the  river  —  she 
slipped  under  the  ice  —  and  she  is  gone  to  the 
ocean.  Listen,  my  boy,  listen  —  I  have  lost  chil 
dren  of  my  own  ;  I  have  cried  over  them.  But 
they  lie  up  yonder  in  the  graveyard  —  and  I 
could  still  sleep  in  my  bed.  But  this  little  one 
cannot  rest  —  she  turns,  turns  in  the  water,  and 
it  is  cold  for  the  child  —  and  I  cannot  sleep 
while  she  is  drifting  away  to  the  sea.  O  my 
God,  it  is  hard  to  bear,  and  my  boy  Denis 
fighting  and  thinking  of  his  baby  in  her  warm 
cradle,  while  the  river  is  her  cradle,  and  the  ice 
is  her  coverlid." 


A    TRANSATLANTIC    CHATELAINE.         40o 

Maurice  saw  that  her  poor  mind  wavered  like 
the  light  of  the  torch,  and  found  a  moment  for 
pity.  "  Never  fear,  good  mother,"  he  said  gently. 
"  The  saints  will  make  your  baby's  bed  softer 
and  warmer  under  the  ice  than  you  could  in 
your  own  home." 

"  You  think  so  ?  "  exclaimed  the  woman.  Her 
sunken  eyes  gleamed  from  beneath  the  loose, 
overhanging  lids,  and  she  laid  her  claw-like  fin 
gers  on  his  arm. 

"  Ah,"  she  added,  drawing  back ;  "  you  are  a 
gentleman.  I  beg  Monsieur's  pardon  a  hundred 
times." 

"  All  right,"  said  Maurice,  rising  to  his  feet. 
"  AVill  you  do  me  a  good  turn,  mother  ?  I  am 
freezing  cold ;  can  you  give  me  some  dry 
clothes  ?  " 

"  Surely,  surely,"  she  answered,  eager  to  serve 
him.  "  I  have  my  boy's  Sunday  suit  at  home  ; 
come  with  me." 

"  But  I  do  not  wish  to  be  seen,  and  you  live 
in  the  village." 

"  Nay,  nay,  my  home  is  in  the  rock,  beyond 
the  hamlet ;  you  will  be  safe." 

He  persuaded  her  to  extinguish  her  light,  and 
then  followed  her  from  the  river,  through  the 

O 

little  belt  of  woods,  across  the  highway,  and  so 
to  the  further  end  of  the  village  street.  There, 
in  the  face  of  the  cliff  bordering  the  river  road, 


400          .-1    TRANSATLANTIC    CHATELAINE. 

was  a  low,  wooden  door  ;  the  old  woman  opened 
it,  and  Maurice  followed  her  into  a  room  cut  out 
of  the  heart  of  a  rock. 

A  few  red  embers  threw  an  uncertain  light  on 
the  uneven  floor  and  rough  ceiling  where  the 
marks  of  the  implements  which  fashioned  this 
rude  dwelling  still  showed.  When  a  lamp  had 
been  lighted  Maurice  saw  that  everything  was 
scrupulously  neat.  The  place  was  warm  and 
dry  ;  and  the  silence  within  after  the  tumult 
without,  a  relief.  He  paid  but  little  attention 
to  the  bed  with  its  gay  chintz  curtains,  or  the 
old  carved  buffet  in  the  corner,  from  which  his 
hostess  drew  a  pile  of  neatly  folded  garments. 
He  was  mad  with  impatience,  and  her  slow,  fum 
bling  movements  were  hard  to  bear.  At  last  she 
pattered  across  the  floor,  and  hung  the  wardrobe 
on  two  chairs  drawn  close  to  the  fire. 

"  Now  I  will  leave  Monsieur  to  dress,  while  I 
milk  Minette,  for  he  must  need  something  to 
stay  his  stomach,"  she  said,  casting  a  last  look 
of  pride  at  the  stout,  well-made  clothes. 

Maurice  lost  no  time  in  making  his  hasty 
toilet.  The  absent  Denis  evidently  made  up  in 
breadth  what  he  lacked  in  height,  and  although 
not  a  good  fit,  still  the  young  officer  managed 
to  make  things  go  until  it  came  to  the  Sunday 
coat.  This  was  impossible,  and  he  looked  rue 
fully  at  his  arms,  the  sleeves  stopping  halfway 


A    TRANSATLANTIC    CHATELAINE.         407 

up.  At  this  moment  the  old  woman  returned, 
a  bowl  of  goat's  milk  in  her  tremulous  hands. 

"Mother,"  said  her  guest,  "hasn't  Denis  a 
blouse?" 

"  But  —  yes,  only  Monsieur  is  a  gentleman," 
she  answered  reluctantly. 

"  Well,  a  blouse  is  never  amiss ;  may  I  bor 
row  that  instead  of  this  coat,  which  might  be 
hurt?  I  have  some  rough  work  ahead  of  me 
to-night." 

She  sighed,  but  obeyed  him,  and  in  another 
moment  he  had  settled  himself  comfortably  into 
the  dark  blue  blouse,  which  he  fastened  round 
his  waist  with  his  leather  belt.  He  had  caught 
sight  of  a  beret,  a  flat  cap  of  dark  woolen, 
sometimes  worn  by  the  peasants.  "  There,"  he 
exclaimed  gayly,  "  now  I  am  ready  for  every 
thing." 

He  drank  the  bowl  of  milk,  adding  some 
cognac  from  his  flask,  and  then  he  turned  to  the 
peasant.  "  Tell  me,  mother,  are  the  Prussians 
about  here?  " 

She  eyed  him  curiously.  "  Those  devils  ? 
yes,"  she  answered,  crossing  herself.  "  They 
are  here,  there,  everywhere  —  coming  and  going 
like  ants  in  a  hill." 

"  Are  any  at  the  chateau  ?  " 

"  How  can  I  tell  ?  Probably  yes  —  but  I 
know  nothing." 


408          A    TRAX^ATLAXTir    CHATELAINE. 

He  put  two  gold  pieces  into  her  hand.  "  I 
may  come  back  and  I  may  not/'  he  said.  "  But 
as  long  as  I  live  you  will  have  my  gratitude." 

She  looked  at  him  with  admiration  in  her 
puckered  face.  Where  is  the  woman  too  old  to 
feel  a  gleam  of  pleasure  in  youth  and  beauty 
and  dash  ?  —  and  as  he  stood  in  the  dim  room 
Maurice  represented  all  three,  his  eyes  gleam 
ing  with  excitement  from  under  the  cap  resting 
on  his  dark  hair,  his  muscular  figure  all  alive 
with  impatience.  He  was  gone  before  she  could 
find  words  to  thank  him,  confusion  running  riot 
in  her  misty  brain. 

It  was  easy  enough  for  him  to  find  his  way 
after  the  first  moment.  While  he  had  been  in 
the  cottage  he  had  laid  his  course.  Having 
learned  from  his  hostess  that  the  chatelaines 
were  still  at  La  Roche,  he  thought  it  probable 
that  Philippe's  first  move  would  be  to  hide  him 
self  in  his  old  home.  The  peasant  had  given 
him  some  vague  accounts  of  Prussian  soldiers 
who  had  passed  by  the  village  during  the  day, 
and  he  knew  that  the  country  must  be  bristling 
with  them.  There  was  even  a  chance  that  some 
might  be  at  the  chateau ;  at  all  events  he  must 
act  with  caution.  Avoiding  equally  the  high 
way  and  the  village  road,  he  struck  into  the 
fields  lying  between  them.  Although  not  yet 
six  o'clock  it  was  verv  dark.  The  fierce  wind 


A    TRANSATLANTIC    CHATELAINE.         409 

tore  rents  in  the  clouds  through  which  the  stars 
looked  with  frightened  eyes.  The  warmth  of 
the  old  woman's  fire,  the  dry  clothes,  and  the 
exercise  had  chased  away  the  deadly  chill ;  he 
felt  a  pleasurable  glow  without  and  within  ;  the 
excitement  of  his  adventure,  and  the  hopes  its 
success  held  out,  filled  him  with  exultation.  He 
knew  every  foot  of  the  fields  he  was  crossing: 
just  where  the  little  brook  ran  under  its  sheath 
of  ice,  and  where  the  great  walnut-trees  stood. 
A  hundred  more  strides  would  bring  him  to  a 
narrow  lane,  which  was  bounded  on  the  other 
side  by  the  high  stone  wall  which  surrounded 
the  park.  Ah!  here  he  was  at  the  hedge 
marking  the  limit  of  the  field,  —  two  yards 
or  so  011  one  side  was  a  gate.  He  felt  along 
until  his  hand  rested  on  the  upper  bar ;  then  he 
vaulted  lightly  over.  As  he  came  down  on  the 
other  side  he  grazed  against  an  unseen  body  ; 
there  was  a  sudden  movement ;  sparks  were 
struck  from  the  frozen  ground  by  the  kicks  of  a 
startled  horse ;  an  oath  in  German  rolled  out, 
and  against  the  sky  Maurice  saw  indefinitely 
the  forms  of  mounted  men.  He  had  half  a 
chance,  and  quick  as  lightning  he  seized  it. 
Before  the  horses  had  ceased  their  plunging  he 
had  run  along  the  hedge,  crossed  the  lane,  and 
with  a  spring  had  gained  the  top  of  the  wall ; 
no  easy  matter,  but  a  feat  that  he  had  accom- 


410         .-1    TRANSATLANTIC   CHATELAINE. 

plished  more  than  once  in  his  boyhood.  As  he 
dropped  to  the  ground  on  the  other  side,  he  saw 
a  light  shining  from  one  of  the  windows  in  the 
old  wing  of  the  chateau.  He  thought  that  it 
came  from  his  own  former  room,  and  his  one 
idea  now  was  to  gain  admittance,  so  as  to  warn 
Philippe  to  hide  if  he  had  gained  shelter  there. 
The  land  fell  away  so  abruptly  towards  the 
river  that  the  room,  although  on  a  level  with 
the  court,  was  at  least  twenty  feet  above  the 
terrace  on  which  Maurice  soon  found  himself. 
He  must  communicate  with  those  within,  but  he 
dared  not  run  the  risk  of  showing  himself,  for 
the  mounted  soldiers  in  the  lane  gave  evidence 
of  a  close  watch  kept  about  the  place.  An  old 
ivy,  gnarled  and  strong,  grew  against  the  solid 
rock,  forming  the  foundation  of  the  east  wing, 
climbing  nearly  to  the  eaves.  With  this  for  a 
ladder  Maurice  began  his  ascent. 

The  crashing,  tossing  trees  kept  all  other 
sounds  in  abeyance,  and  he  could  not  tell  if  he 
had  been  followed  ;  he  must  take  every  possible 
precaution.  This  was  not  the  first  time  that  he 
had  gained  his  room  by  means  of  the  ivy.  As 
a  boy,  after  some  frolic,  undertaken  from  the 
mere  love  of  adventure,  he  had  crept  through 
the  windows  in  the  dim  morning  light,  tired 
but  triumphant,  and  trying  to  imagine  himself 
some  hero  of  romance.  Now  there  was  no  time 


.4    TRANSATLANTIC    CHATELAINE.         411 

for  imagination,  hardly  for  memory.  He  was 
scarcely  as  light  as  in  those  bygone  days,  and 
his  progress  was  a  slow  one,  each  branch  being 
carefully  tested  before  he  reached  the  level  of 
the  window.  He  tore  a  spray  of  the  vine,  and 
always  mindful  of  the  eyes  that  might  be  peer 
ing  through  the  night,  he  swayed  it  against  the 
glass,  and  in  its  protection  looked  into  the  room. 
He  could  only  see  a  small  part,  owing  to  the 
thickness  of  the  walls  ;  but  the  picture  that 
met  his  gaze  drove  for  one  brief  moment  all 
thought  of  war,  of  danger,  all  hopes  and  fears 
from  his  mind.  There  in  the  brilliant  firelight 
sat  Sylvia,  her  child  on  her  knee ;  she  was 
"  trotting  him  to  market,"  and  over  the  fury 
of  the  gale  Maurice  could  hear  the  bursts  of 
laughter  when,  the  perilous  journey  made,  she 
gathered  the  baby  in  her  arms,  and  cuddled 
him,  kissed  him,  hugged  him,  as  if,  indeed,  he 
had  been  restored  to  her  from  some  danger. 
Her  cheeks  were  rosy,  her  eyes  shone,  and  she 
looked  as  if  no  sorrow  or  care  had  ever  laid 
a  withering  finger  on  her.  It  was  a  vision  of 
home  and  joy,  set  in  the  midst  of  war  and  deso 
late  hearth-stones.  It  was  an  embodiment  of 
the  Paradise  that  he  might  never  realize,  and 
the  unsuspected  watcher  felt  one  sharp  stab  of 
regret.  But  this  was  a  time  for  action,  not 
feeling.  He  sank  self  with  an  imperious  effort 


412         A    TRANSATLANTIC   CHATELAINE. 

of  his  will,  and  struck  sharply  against  the  glass 
with  the  spray. 

Sylvia  heard  the  three  blows ;  she  knew  it 
was  a  sign,  and  her  whole  figure  stiffened,  but 
she  went  on  with  the  game  as  if  she  had  noticed 
nothing,  her  white  lips  forcing  themselves  to  say 
the  familiar  words,  "  Trot,  trot  to  market,  trot, 
trot  to  Lynn,"  and  all  the  time  she  was  thinking 
rapidly,  "  An  enemy  would  not  knock,  it  must 
be  some  one  who  needs  me.  Is  it  —  oh,  no  — 
it  cannot  be  —  he."  Again  came  the  three  taps, 
more  imperatively  than  before. 

She  was  alone ;  the  countess  and  Justine 
away,  Pierre  in  the  distant  kitchen.  It  might 
be  her  husband  who  appealed  to  her.  She 
shrank  from  the  thought.  Then  she  blushed  at 
her  own  cowardice,  nay,  worse  than  cowardice, 
for  she  had  protested  so  much,  and  now  recoiled 
from  her  clear  duty.  Putting  little  Louis  on 
the  hearth-rug,  she  went  with  a  steady  step  to 
the  window  ;  she  drew  the  heavy  curtain  across 
the  embrasure  between  herself  and  the  light ; 
then  with  a  cautious  hand  she  undid  the  fasten 
ing,  and  opened  the  casement. 

A  voice,  so  close  to  her  that  she  started,  said, 
"  It  is  Maurice  Regnier  ;  are  you  alone  ?  " 

"Yes." 

"  Let  me  in  ;  I  must  say  something  to  you." 

She  threw  the  window  wide,  holding  the  cur- 


A    TRANSATLANTIC   CHATELAINE.         413 

tains  firm  so  that  the  wind  should  not  sway 
them  aside.  Maurice  jumped  in,  and  closed  all 
behind  him,  fastening  the  heavy  wooden  shut 
ters,  before  he  turned  ;  then  out  of  the  storm 
and  the  darkness  he  came  into  a  harbor  of  light 
and  warmth.  Sylvia  looked  at  him,  puzzled  at 
first  by  his  peasant's  dress,  and  then  for  a  mo 
ment  gloriously  frightened  by  the  light  which 
leapt  unconsciously  from  his  eyes  as  they  rested 
on  her,  more  gracious,  more  womanly  in  her 
bravery  than  even  his  heart  had  painted  her. 
As  their  glances  mingled,  she  felt  herself  carried 
along  by  a  force  more  mighty  than  the  wind 
without,  more  powerful  than  any  ocean.  She 
knew  for  the  brief  space  of  a  second  what  part 
nature  plays  in  our  lives,  and  she  exulted  in  its 
domination  and  her  own  powerlessness. 

"  Pa-pa,  pa-pa,"  said  little  Louis,  with  genial 
welcome  from  the  hearth. 

The  strange  emotion  had  gone ;  the  magic 
had  been  banished  by  a  child.  Maurice  was  less 
moved  :  he  had  a  nation's  rescue  in  his  keeping, 
he  thought.  This  drove  out  other  feelings  for 
the  time.. 

"  We  are  safe  from  interruption  ?  "  he  asked 
hurriedly. 

"  Yes." 

"  Is  Philippe  here  ?  " 

"  No,  no.     Why  do  you  ask  ?  " 


414         A    TRANSATLANTIC    CHATELAINE. 

"  He  may  come  at  any  moment.  He  has  es 
caped  by  balloon  from  Paris.  Hark !  What 
was  that  ?  " 

"  Only  the  wind  swaying  the  tapestry ;  go 
on." 

As  she  answered,  a  wilder  blast  than  the  last 
made  the  faded  green  trees  on  the  wall  bend  and 
sway  as  their  originals  were  doing  outside. 

Maurice  continued.  "  We  believe  that  he 
may  be  the  bearer  of  very  important  news,  of 
plans  for  another  sortie,  and  the  safety  of  France 
may  hang  on  this  night's  work." 


CHAPTER   XX. 

WHILE  Maurice  was  making  his  way  to  Syl 
via's  room,  Justine  started  on  a  two  miles'  walk, 
to  a  cottage  where  the  countess  was  nursing  a 
woman  sick  unto  death.  The  dying  peasant  had 
been  a  servant  in  the  chateau  in  former  days, 
had  married  and  settled  on  an  outlying  farm  be 
longing  to  the  property,  and  had  always  main 
tained  friendly  relations  with  the  family.  Her 
children  were  boys,  who,  with  their  father,  were 
in  the  army,  so  the  poor  creature  was  left  alone 
but  for  the  kindly  services  of  Madame  de  La 
Roche.  Justine  had  gone  to  take  her  leave  of 
Sylvia  and  the  baby  before  her  departure,  and 
had  carried  a  warm  memory  into  the  night  with 
her.  Her  adored  mistress  had  looked  up  with  a 
laugh  which  bore  Justine  back  to  the  days  in 
New  England,  —  one  of  those  rare  days  when 
Sylvia  had  been  for  the  time  a  happy,  simple 
child.  The  faithful,  passionate,  ignorant  heart 
glowed  at  the  thought  of  the  solicitude  in  her 
mistress's  voice  when  she  asked  her  if  she  were 
warmly  dressed,  and  if  her  lantern  were  in  good 
order. 


416         A    TRANSATLANTIC    CHATELAINE. 

"  I  hate  to  have  you  go  alone,  Justine,"  she 
had  said.  "  It  is  most  unfortunate  that  Pierre's 
rheumatism  disables  him." 

To  make  her  trip  shorter,  Justine  had  gone 
through  the  chapel,  thus  saving  herself  the  tour 
of  the  buildings.  She  opened  the  low  door,  and 
stepping  out,  put  her  lantern  down  while  she 
turned  the  large  key  in  the  lock,  and  then  hung 
it  about  her  neck.  Although  somewhat  sheltered 
by  the  trees,  she  found  that  her  walk  was  likely 
to  prove  a  difficult  one,  but  she  advanced  steadily 
thinking,  "She  is  safe  from  the  wind  and  cold; 
that  is  all  I  care  for." 

The  sick  woman's  cottage  lay  in  the  opposite 
direction  from  the  village,  and  nearly  a  third  of 
the  road  was  in  the  park.  As  Justine  battled  on 
her  way,  the  wind  bore  to  her  the  sound  of  bells 
from  the  village  church.  It  was  the  angelus, 
the  hour  of  prayer.  Putting  her  lantern  down 
she  knelt  beneath  the  stormy  sky,  looking  up  as 
if  to  pierce  the  clouds.  The  light  shone  full  on 
her  strong,  square  face,  with  its  resolute  jaw,  and 
the  lines  hinting  at  a  capacity  for  tremendous 
passions.  Devoutly  turned  heavenward,  the  fore 
shortening  of  the  brow  and  the  uplifted  eyes  gave 
the  expression  of  ecstasy  Perugino  so  cunningly 
uses  with  his  saints. 

The  desire  prompting  her  prayer  had  grown 
to  be  a  part  of  her  very  being ;  for  nearly  a  year 


.1    TRANSATLANTIC    CHATELAINE.         417 

now  she  had  demanded  the  freedom  her  mistress 
had  wept  for.  At  first  it  was  with  vague,  un- 
formulated  phrases,  but  little  by  little  she  had 
grown  bold  :  the  war  seemed  to  her  to  have  been 
planned  by  Providence  to  rid  the  world  of  her 
master,  and  she  no  longer  scrupled  to  face  the 
fact  that  his  death  was  what  she  begged  from 
her  saints  with  fervent  insistence.  To-night  a 
hope  was  in  her  heart ;  Sylvia  had  been  gay  and 
young ;  in  fact  ever  since  the  count  had  gone 
away  a  cloud  had  seemed  lifted  from  his  wife's 
spirits ;  but  just  now,  as  she  had  wished  the  old 
servant  God-speed,  her  voice  rang  with  girlish 
lightness,  and  Justine  took  it  for  a  sign  of  good. 
Still  on  her  knees,  her  lips  muttering  rapidly, 
she  felt  a  heavy  hand  on  her  shoulder,  and  her 
eyes  met  those  of  Philippe.  She  recoiled  as  if 
she  had  seen  an  evil  spirit,  and  crossed  herself. 

"  Don't  scream,"  he  said,  "  or  I  will  strangle 
you.  Are  there  any  Prussians  in  the  chateau?" 

She  hesitated,  looking  into  his  pale,  eager 
face,  which  had  for  her  the  fascination  of  a  ser 
pent.  If  she  could  only  keep  him  away  from 
her  mistress,  she  thought ;  if  that  happy  smile 
could  stay  a  few  hours  longer  on  the  lips  she 
loved. 

"  Pie  shall  not  see  my  darling,"  she  resolved, 
and,  still  on  her  knees,  she  lied. 

"  Yes,  Monsieur  le  comte  ;  the  chateau  is  full 
of  them." 


418          A    TRANSATLANTIC    CHATELAINE. 

He  cursed  low  under  his  breathy  be  was  worn 
out  with  fatigue  ;  for  the  last  hour  and  more,  be 
bad  been  doubling1  and  turning,  pursued  by  the 
men  who  bad  seen  bis  balloon  drop ;  bis  com 
panion  was  taken  ;  be  bad  escaped  only  because 
be  knew  the  country  so  well,  and  bis  chief  object 
had  been  to  gain  La  Roche,  with  its  secret  pas 
sages,  where  he  might  find  at  least  a  temporary 
shelter.  He  might,  even  in  the  teeth  of  bis  ene 
mies,  enter  his  own  home.  He  decided  to  try, 
for  his  present  situation  was  too  precarious  to 
continue ;  the  morning,  at  the  latest,  would  be 
tray  him  to  the  surrounding  Prussians. 

"  You  came  out  of  the  chapel  ;  give  me  the 
key,"  be  said  abruptly. 

"  I  dropped  it  —  I  have  not  got  it,"  replied 
Justine,  remembering  bow  easily  her  mistress's 
room  was  reached  by  the  stair  in  the  wall. 

"  You  lie,  you  old  spy,"  said  Philippe.  "  I 
saw  you  from  the  shrubbery ;  I  only  followed 
you  to  be  farther  off.  Give  it  to  me." 

A  lowering,  determined  look  came  into  her  eyes, 
but  she  did  not  speak.  His  quick  ear  caught 
the  ring  of  horses'  hoofs  far  away  on  the  frozen 
road.  He  was  brutalized  by  Hie  sufferings  he  had 
witnessed  and  endured  ;  his  finer  instincts  were 
smothered.  With  a  sudden  wrench  he  pulled 
the  key  from  her  neck,  where  he  had  watched  her 
hide  it,  and  without  another  word  slunk  away 


A    TRANSATLANTIC    CHATELAINE.         419 

towards  the  chapel  door.  For  a  moment  she 
crouched  where  his  violence  had  thrown  her,  one 
thought  clear  to  her,  —  he  had  gone  to  Sylvia ! 
The  smile  was  to  be  banished  from  her  lips,  the 
light  from  her  eyes.  The  agonized  appeal  once 
wrung  from  her,  never  forgotten  by  the  old  ser 
vant,  "  O  God,  free  me  !  "  had  remained  unan 
swered. 

Justine  raised  herself  again  to  her  knees ;  she 
felt  the  angry  throb  about  her  neck  where  the 
cord  had  cut  in  from  his  violent  twist.  She 
was  the  prey  of  a  burst  of  fury,  so  intense  as 
to  amount  to  insanity.  "  There  are  110  saints," 
she  called  aloud  in  defiance  ;  "  if  they  were  true 
saints  they  would  not  be  deaf  to  my  prayers. 
There  are  only  devils  in  saints'  shrines,  and  they 
have  been  laughing  and  jeering  all  this  time  to 
hear  my  prayers.  I  spurn  them  and  all  holy 
things.  There  is  no  God  —  a  true  God  would 
have  let  him  die.  And  now  he  is  going  to  make 
my  darling  unhappy  again  —  he  never  loved  her 
—  never  —  he  wanted  her  money  for  that  woman 
in  Paris.  I  know  him  well.  I  know  his  deceits. 
He  takes  my  child's  gold  and  gives  it  to  harlots. 
Would  true  saints  permit  that?  No,  my  new 
master  is  the  Devil ;  I  will  pray  to  him."  Half 
crazed  by  the  sight  of  the  man,  hatred  for  whom 
had  grown  to  be  her  master  passion,  dominating 
even  her  love  for  her  mistress,  she,  still  kneeling 


420         A    TRANSATLANTIC    CHATELAINE. 

on  the  frozen  ground,  continued:  "O  Satan,  what 
is  my  poor  soul  worth  compared  to  my  child's 
happiness  ?  I  give  it  to  thee  willingly,  if  I  can 
gain  her  joy.  A  thousand  years  in  hell  is  nothing 
for  me.  I  am  only  a  poor,  ignorant  old  woman 
—  but  she  is  a  flower  fit  for  paradise.  Keep 
her  fresh,  unfaded.  Let  her  be  free,  let  her  be 
happy,  and  I  will  serve  thee  for  ever  and  ever. 
Amen." 

Who  can  say  that  the  unselfishness  prompting 
the  blasphemous  prayer  was  not  more  than  half 
divine  ?  Did  Satan  wake  while  the  saints  slept? 
she  wondered,  horrified  and  triumphant,  for  as 
she  rose  from  her  knees  the  hard  clatter  of 
horses'  hoofs  met  her  ear.  He  was  delivered 
into  her  hand  ;  her  petition  was  granted. 

Fast  against  the  driving  wind  came  the  horse 
men  ;  she  lifted  her  lantern,  and  its  beams  shone 
on  a  Prussian  officer  riding  ahead,  with  a  detach 
ment  following,  four  abreast.  The  men  saw  her 
indistinctly ;  their  leader  pulled  up,  and  they 
halted  in  line  with  military  precision.  Satan 
was  prompt  in  his  answer ;  here  was  her  oppor 
tunity.  Still  shaken  by  her  blind  rage,  she 
obeyed  the  peremptory  summons,  "  Come  here." 

She  advanced  close  to  the  side  of  the  mounted 
officer. 

"  Have  you  seen  any  one  escaping  through  this 
park  ?  " 


A    TRANSATLANTIC    CHATELAINE.          421 

4k  Yes,  Monsieur." 

"  A  Frenchman  ?  " 

"  Yes,  Monsieur." 

"  Where  did  he  go  ?  " 

"  Into  the  chateau  through  the  chapel  door 
yonder." 

"Who  is  he?" 

For  the  first  time  she  hesitated ;  then  the  word 
he  applied  to  her,  which  had  at  first  crushed  and 
then  exasperated  her,  leaped  to  her  lips. 

"  He  is  a  spy,  Monsieur ;  the  Comte  de  La 
Roche  —  and  a  spy." 

The  Prussian  hesitated  ;  it  seemed  to  him  that 
this  good  fortune  was  a  little  too  fortuitous  to 
be  true.  "  Give  me  your  lantern,"  he  said. 

Justine  handed  it  to  him,  and  he  flashed  the 
light  full  on  her  face.  Its  stolid,  heavy  expres 
sion  —  for  the  eyes  had  become  sullen  —  reas 
sured  him. 

"  Show  me  the  way  ;  but  remember,  if  you  lead 
me  into  any  ambush  you  will  be  the  first  to  suffer." 

"  I  will  tell  you  how  to  trap  him  :  he  will  be 
in  his  wife's  room  ;  guard  the  chapel  door  well 
yonder  —  but  you  must  promise  never  to  betray 
me,  for  if  Pierre  knew  he  would  kill  me." 

"  Don't  fear ;  lead  on,  and  you  shall  be  safe. 
Point  out  the  chapel  door  to  my  men." 

Without  a  word  she  took  her  lantern  back, 
and  strode  rapidly  on,  pointing  silently  to  the 


422  A    TRANSATLANTIC    CHATELAINE. 

door  as  she  passed  it.  There  was  murder  in  her 
eye  as  she  extended  her  hand,  but  the  night  hid 
it.  The  officer  gave  an  order  in  German,  half  a 
dozen  soldiers  halted,  and  as  Justine  led  the  way 
along  the  terrace,  under  the  moaning  cedar,  she 
heard  their  blows  battering  on  the  solid  oak. 
Philippe,  on  the  other  side,  heard  them  too,  and 
started  from  his  temporary  security.  How  had 
they  tracked  him  ?  At  any  rate  the  passage  and 
staircase  tunneled  in  the  wall,  leading  to  Sylvia's 
room,  were  cleverly  concealed,  and  would  be  dif 
ficult  to  discover  by  those  not  in  the  secret.  He 
would  hide  himself  there,  but  he  must  try  to  let 
some  one  friendly  to  him  know  of  his  presence, 
lest  he  be  betrayed  through  ignorance.  He  was 
sure  that  the  chateau  woidd  be  searched  by  his 
pursuers,  and  he  felt  his  courage  evaporate  under 
the  strain.  He  let  himself  out  of  the  chapel,  and 
felt  along  the  dark  passage,  until  he  reached  the 
winding  stairs.  Cautiously,  stepping  lightly, 
pausing  often,  he  mounted  until  he  reached  the 
narrow  landing.  He  found  the  latch  of  the  door 
behind  the  tapestry,  and  lifted  it  noiselessly ; 
then  he  heard  a  voice,  a  man's  voice,  —  one  that 
he  knew  well,  —  say,  "  Hark  !  what  was  that  ?  " 
and  his  wife's  answer  came,  "  Only  the  wind." 

He  stood  listening  avidly.  lie  heard  Maurice 
tell  that  on  him  hung  the  fortunes  of  France. 
Behind  him  the  Prussians  were  on  his  track,  and 


A    TRANSATLANTIC    CHATELAINE.  423 

he  well  knew  that  all  his  pursuers  were  not 
wasting  their  time  at  the  chapel  door ;  the  chateau 
would  be  searched.  He  must  form  a  plan  and  act 
quickly.  As  he  hesitated,  a  scheme  presented 
itself  to  him,  clear  and  distinct ;  he  lifted  the 
tapestry,  and  showed  himself.  Sylvia  started, 
and  then  suppressed  the  exclamation  of  dismay 
which  rose  to  her  lips.  There  was  a  pathos  to 
her  in  the  sight  of  this  man ;  he  was  thin  and 
haggard ;  a  half-grown  beard  gave  him  a  ragged 
appearance,  not  contradicted  by  his  shabby  uni 
form.  He  who  had  always  been  so  fastidious 
about  himself  had  risen  to  this  state  for  the  sake 
of  his  country.  He  commanded  her  respect,  and 
she  was  grateful  to  be  able  to  give  it.  He  lost 
no  time  in  greetings. 

"  I  am  pursued,  but  I  have  doubled  on  them. 
I  have  papers  for  Chanzy  in  my  boots.  Maurice, 
you  must  help  me  reach  him." 

"  I  will,  Philippe ;  I  can  get  you  across  the 
river,  and  my  horse  is  just  opposite ;  you  will 
reach  headquarters  before  midnight  if  we  have 
any  luck." 

"  First  I  must  eat  and  drink.  I  am  famished. 
Paris  has  not  fitted  me  out  any  too  well  for  hard 
ships.  Sylvia,  get  me  some  food." 

"  I  will  bring  you  something  at  once,"  she  said; 
"but  first  drink  this  milk." 

As  she  spoke  she  took  up  a  pitcher  that  had 


424  A    TRANSATLANTIC    CHATELAINE. 

been  brought  in  for  the  baby's  supper,  and  as 
she  poured  it  out,  Philippe  heard  a  confused 
tramp  in  the  hall. 

"No,  no,"  he  said,  half  losing  his  head;  "go 
for  wine,  quick,  not  that  stuff." 

She  set  the  pitcher  down,  and  obediently 
started  for  the  door. 

"  Some  one  is  coming,"  she  said  ;  "  hide  !  " 
and  made  a  spring  to  lock  it ;  but  she  was  not 
quick  enough ;  it  was  thrust  abruptly  open,  and 
a  Prussian  officer  strode  in.  Sylvia  saw  the 
tapestry  wave  as  if  from  the  sudden  draught, 
and  there,  in  the  full  light,  stood  Maurice  alone. 
He  was  apparently  unmoved,  and  had  made  no 
attempt  to  escape. 

"  Ha,"  said  the  Prussian,  laying  a  heavy  hand 
on  his  shoulder,  and  then  throwing  a  backward 
glance  at  the  group  of  soldiers  beyond  the 
threshold.  "  You  have  given  us  a  good  chase, 
Monsieur  le  Comte  de  La  Roche,  but  I  have 
you  at  last." 

"  He  is  not  the  man  you  seek,  Monsieur,"  said 
Sylvia.  "  Cannot  you  see  by  his  dress  that  he  is 
a  peasant  ?  He  is  not  Monsieur  de  La  Roche." 

The  officer  smiled.  "You  are  the  comtesse, 
I  believe  ?  " 

"Yes,  Monsieur." 

"  Then  how  does  it  happen  that  this  young 
peasant  is  in  your  room  ?  " 


A    TRANSATLANTIC    CHATELAINE.         425 

.  She  came  close  to  the  officer,  and  put  her  hand 
on  his  arm. 

"Believe  me,  Monsieur,"  she  said  earnestly, 
"  he  is  not  my  husband  whom  you  seek.  This 
man  is  not  the  count." 

There  was  a  ring  of  truth  in  her  voice  that 
shook  the  Prussian  for  a  moment. 

"  Then,  Madame^we  must  make  a  search  for 
the  real  count,"  he  said. 

"  Find  the  hidden  door  under  the  tapestry," 
he  added  in  German  to  one  of  his  soldiers. 

"  I  will  save  you  that  trouble,  Monsieur," 
broke  in  Maurice.  "  I  see  you  are  too  well  in 
formed  for  me  to  attempt  to  escape.  I  am  the 
Comte  de  La  Roche." 

"  No,  no,"  said  Sylvia  wildly.  "  You  must 
not,  you  shall  not  sacrifice  " 

"  My  wife,  cannot  you  give  me  up  for  France  ?  " 

She  understood  all  that  his  words  implied.  It 
was  not  Philippe  alone,  it  was  his  country  that 
he  was  saving.  But  his  sudden  surrender  had 
made  the  Prussian  suspicious. 

"  You  may  be  the  man  I  want,  and  you  may 
not  be.  You  French  are  as  slippery  as  eels. 
Time  presses,  but  I  can't  afford  to  let  my  little 
count  get  away." 

All  this  time  the  baby,  who  had  been  amus 
ing  himself  in  his  own  way,  regardless  of  friend 
or  foe,  dug  his  fists  into  his  eyes,  and  whim- 


426         A    TRANSATLANTIC    CHATELAINE. 

pered ;  then  opening  both  arms  wide,  he   said, 
looking  towards  Maurice,  "  Pa-pa,  pa-pa." 

"  Ah,  my  master,  you  've    done    me  a  good 
turn,"  said  the  officer.     "  In  this   cursed  land 
only  the  babies  speak  the  truth.     Come  now  — 
be  off ;  you  have  wasted  enough  of  my  time." 

"May  I  have  one  word  with  my  wife?" 

"No,  you  've  had  one  too  many  already. 
Come  on." 

Maurice  turned  towards  Sylvia,  who  stood 
rigid  as  a  statue :  she  went  swiftly  to  him  in 
obedience  to  his  eye's  appeal.  He  put  his  arms 
about  her,  and  as  he  pressed  her  to  him,  whis 
pered,  "  Forgive  me.  It  is  for  France." 

But  she  put  both  arms  about  his  neck,  and 
lifted  her  face  close  to  his ;  he  could  see  the 
little  violet  glints  in  her  eyes,  and  the  black 
lashes  about  them. 

"  I  will  save  you,"  she  whispered  back.    "  And 
this  is  not  for  France  ;  it  is  to  wipe  out  the  past 
—  the   memory   of  that  blow."     As   she  spoke 
she  kissed  the  cheek  she  had  struck. 

"  Now  I  can  meet  death,"  said  Maurice,  drink 
ing  deep  of  her  beauty,  even  at  this  moment 
swayed  by  his  enduring  love  for  her. 

"  That  is  enough,"  said  the  officer.  "  I  am 
not  here  for  play-acting,  but  for  work.  For 
ward  !  March." 

He  wrenched  Maurice  awav,  and  Svlvia  saw 


A    TRANSATLANTIC   CHATELAINE.         427 

him  surrounded  by  the  soldiers.  Their  heavy 
boots  rang  on  the  stone  floor  of  the  corridor. 
There  he  went,  her  hero,  once  her  lover.  All 
life  was  compressed  into  this  supreme  moment 
of  ecstatic  pain.  She  listened  as  if  her  life 
depended  on  hearing  the  last  sound ;  the  heavy 
door  into  the  court  clanged ;  the  clatter  of  hoofs 
on  the  paved  way  beneath  the  arch  rang  out; 
then  came  silence  for  a  moment ;  followed  by 
the  gallop,  now  loud,  now  faint,  as  the  detach 
ment  rode  down  the  avenue. 

Little  Louis  had  grown  sleepy,  and  began  to 
rub  his  face  and  cry.  Sylvia  pulled  herself 
back  as  if  from  a  great  distance,  and  tried  to 
realize  where  she  was ;  her  mind  was  as  yet 
hardly  under  control,  as  she  lifted  the  baby  to 
her  lap,  and  began  mechanically  to  undress  him. 
He  missed  the  accustomed  kisses,  and  laid  his 
chubby  hand  against  her  cheek,  with  a  won 
dering  look  in  his  brown  eyes.  Still  with  her 
sensations  stony  in  the  reaction  from  the  strain 
that  she  had  just  undergone,  she  went  on  with 
her  work,  giving  the  child  from  time  to  time  an 
unmeaning  caress.  Just  now  nothing  seemed 
real  to  her,  neither  the  baby  nor  herself ;  they 
were  both  like  dream  creatures.  As  for  Phi 
lippe,  she  had  utterly  forgotten  him,  and  started 
when  the  door  behind  the  tapestry  opened,  and 
he  peered  out. 


428         A    TRANSATLANTIC    CHATELAINE. 

"Am  I  safe  now?  have  they  all  gone?"  he 
asked. 

"  I  think  so ;  I  can't  be  sure,"  she  answered. 

"Ring  for  Pierre,  and  find  out,"  he  com 
manded  impatiently.  "  Have  you  no  pity  for 
me?  I  am  nearly  starved  to  death." 

She  put  little  Louis  in  his  crib,  and  pulled 
the  bell-rope.  Neither  she  nor  Philippe  spoke 
until  the  old  man,  twisted  with  rheumatism, 
hobbled  in.  Then  she  said,  "Have  they  all 
gone  ?  —  is  it  safe  for  Monsieur  le  comte  to 
come  out?  " 

When  Pierre  saw  his  master  he  threw  up  his 
hands  in  astonishment.  "  Monsieur  Philippe," 
he  exclaimed,  remembering  the  old  times.  Then 
recollecting  himself,  he  added,  "  I  beg  a  thou 
sand  pardons.  Yes,  the  devils  have  all  gone, 
carrying  a  poor  peasant  to  Chaumont,  they 
said." 

"  Then  get  me  something  to  eat,  quick,"  said 
Philippe,  for  the  first  time  coming  into  the 
room.  "  Bring  it  in  here  by  the  fire,  with  a  bot 
tle  of  champagne  —  liqueurs  —  coffee  —  cigar 
ettes.  Ah,  what  a  feast  I  am  going  to  have. 
Do  you  realize,  Sylvia,  that  I  have  been  eating 
stewed  rats  and  broiled  horse?" 

She  shuddered,  but  could  not  answer. 

He  continued,  his  face  losing  its  pallor  in  the 
warmth  of  the  fire  over  which  he  crouched,  and 


A    TRANSATLANTIC    CHATELAINE.         429 

his  voice  becoming  more  genial  in  his  growing 
comfort,  "  Have  one  of  the  other  servants  light 
a  fire  in  my  dressing-room,  and  set  a  hot  bath, 
while  my  dinner  is  coming." 

"  The  only  other  servant  is  Justine,  and  she 
is  away,  gone  to  the  west  farm  to  bring  your 
mother  home.  I  will  do  it  myself,  only  —  can 
you  spare  —  the  time  —  oughtn't  you  to  make 
haste?" 

His  yellowish  eyes  rested  on  her  for  a  mo 
ment,  and  then  glanced  restlessly  about.  "  I 
can't  start  without  food  —  I  have  no  strength  — 
I  might  die  on  the  way,"  he  answered.  "  But 
the  bath  can  wait  until  I  dine  ;  I  won't  have 
you  doing  that  sort  of  work." 

During  the  pause  that  followed  she  tried  to 
force  herself  to  be  wifely  in  her  mental  attitude 
towards  him.  He  was  doing  his  duty,  and  risk 
ing  his  life  for  it.  Could  mortal  do  more  ?  And 
yet  she  found  herself  judging  him  severely  be 
cause  he  took  an  interest  in  his  dinner.  She 
was  unjust. 

When  she  spoke  again  her  voice  was  more 
sympathetic.  "  Have  you  made  any  plans  for 
getting  across  the  river,  Philippe  ?  " 

Again  he  gave  an  unintelligible  look.  "  Yes, 
plenty  of  them,"  he  answered. 

At  this  point  Pierre  came  in,  bearing  a  large 
tray.  The  simple  dinner  prepared  for  the  ladies 


430          A    TRANSATLANTIC    CHATELAINE. 

had  only  to  be  hurried  a  little  for  his  master. 
Sylvia  helped  him  draw  a  table  to  the  fire,  laid 
a  cloth,  and  arranged  the  service. 

"Ah,  that  is  delicious,"  exclaimed  Philippe, 
as  the  savory  steam  from  the  soup  met  his  nos 
trils.  "  Here,  Pierre,  before  I  begin  you  may 
pull  off  my  boots,  and  then  bring  me  my  slip 
pers." 

He  held  out  his  foot  as  he  spoke.  Sylvia 
looked  aghast. 

"  The  papers,"  she  said,  in  a  low  tone. 

He  gave  her  an  angry  look,  while  Pierre  did 
what  was  required  of  him. 

She  was  puzzled,  but  not  shaken  yet  in  her 
belief.  "  I  will  get  the  slijypers,  Pierre,"  she 
said.  "  You  must  hurry  with  Monsieur  le 
comte's  dinner,  for  he  will  have  to  start  as  soon 
as  he  has  eaten  it." 

"Yes,  Madame,"  answered  the  servant,  hasten 
ing  away  for  the  second  course. 

"  You  fool,  can't  you  hold  your  tongue  before 
him  ?  "  said  Philippe,  as  the  door  closed. 

"  He  is  safe ;  I  only  said  what  he  is  sure  to 
find  out  in  a  few  minutes,"  she  answered. 

He  gave  a  curious  laugh.  "  Don't  interfere 
with  my  plans  as  long  as  I  don't  with  yours. 
How  many  husbands  would  be  as  patient  as  I 
have  shown  myself  to-night  ?  By  Jove,  how  do 
you  suppose  I  liked  to  come  home  after  months 


A    TRANSATLANTIC    CHATELAINE.          431 

of  absence,  and  find  a  man  —  an  old  lover,  too 
—  in  disguise,  in  your  room  ?  " 

She  turned  white  to  her  lips,  but  she  looked 
him  in  the  face  with  eyes  so  full  of  outraged 
dignity  that  his  wavered.  Pierre  reentered,  and 
nothing  more  was  said  until  he  had  again  left 
them  alone. 

Then  Sylvia  spoke.  "  Your  insult  is  unworthy 
even  of  you.  Show  me  the  papers  you  have  for 
General  Chanzy." 

A  sudden  suspicion  had  leaped  into  her  mind  ; 
she  felt  that  she  must  speak  so  as  to  banish  it ; 
it  shamed  her  to  harbor  it  against  her  husband. 

"  That,  my  dear,  is  impossible,"  said  Philippe, 
carefully  untwisting  the  wire  about  his  cham 
pagne  cork. 

"  Why  ?  Where  are  they  ?  What  do  you 
mean  ?  "  she  said  breathlessly,  resting  her  hands 
on  the  table  and  looking  across  at  him,  stooping 
so  as  to  see  into  his  face. 

Philippe  poured  out  a  glass  of  the  wine  slowly, 
not  allowing  the  foam  to  rise ;  then  he  drank  it 
with  a  sigh  of  satisfaction. 

"  The  English  way  suits  me ;  a  dry  brand, 
and  serve  it  through  the  dinner  after  the  fish 
course,"  he  said  genially ;  then  he  set  the  glass 
down,  and  looked  up.  Sylvia's  white  face,  so 
condemning  with  its  questioning  eyes,  maddened 
him. 


432          A    TRANSATLANTIC    CHATELAINE. 

"  Mind  your  own  affairs,"  he  burst  out  with 
violence.  "  You  have  no  right  to  cross-examine 
me.  All  is  fair  in  love  and  war,  and  by  the 
Lord,  both  conditions  existed  this  evening,  it 
seems  to  me  !  " 

"  You  lied  to  Maurice  and  me  ?  you  had  no 
papers  ?  "  she  asked  slowly. 

He  shrugged  his  shoulders,  and  went  on  eat 
ing. 

"  Do  you  realize,"  she  continued,  "  that  you 
will  be  dishonored  for  life  ?  Maurice  will  tell  at 
headquarters  what  you  said." 

"Maurice?  He  won't  tell  much;  he  will  be 
shot  for  a  spy  at  daybreak.  Idiot,  to  come  in 
side  the  enemy's  lines  in  disguise.  I  am  sorry 
for  him,  but  I  must  say  such  stupidity  deserves 
death." 

Was  he  telling  the  truth  ?  Sylvia  felt  that 
everything  had  stopped,  except  time,  and  as  if 
that  whirled  by  her  so  she  could  hear  its  pro 
gress.  She  must  make  one  more  effort. 

"  Philippe,"  she  said,  and  her  voice  was  plead 
ing,  "  you  are  my  husband,  and  my  child's  father. 
Tell  me  that  what  you  just  said  is  not  true.  Oh, 
for  God's  sake,  do  not  let  me  believe  that  you 
betrayed  the  man  who  had  risked  his  life  to  meet 
you,  to  save  yourself  alone." 

He  did  not  answer. 

"  Philippe,   you    have   important    news    for 


A  TRANSATLANTIC  CHATELAINE.    433 

Chanzy  ?  You  are  not  willing  to  let  me  know 
of  the  danger  you  must  run ;  you  are  sparing 
me,  but  I  would  rather  know  the  truth.  You 
are  not  really  in  earnest  when  you  say  you  lied 
to  Maurice  ?  " 

Hardened,  brutalized  as  he  was,  he  could  not 
meet  her  eyes ;  he  let  his  head  fall  forward  on 
his  chest. 

"  I  only  want  one  word,  Philippe ;  for  your 
mother's  sake,  for  the  sake  of  your  son.  Come 
—  look  at  him,  and  then  forgive  me  for  having 
suspected  you.  Let  me  wake  him,  and  place 
him  in  your  arms,  and  teach  him  always  to  re 
member  this  night,  when  his  father  put  honor 
first,  and  gave  his  life  willingly  for  his  country." 

The  shame  which  had  bowed  Philippe's  head 
gave  way  to  a  heavy,  sullen  anger. 

"  Stop  your  high-flown  talk  ;  it  is  sickening," 
he  said  brutally.  "  I  have  done  enough  for  my 
country ;  it  is  a  lost  cause  ;  we  are  beaten.  I 
am  on  my  way  to  Monte  Carlo  ;  I  am  on  sick- 
leave.  Now  you  know  the  whole  story,  so  keep 
quiet." 

While  he  was  speaking  she  had  drawn  away 
from  him,  gathering  herself  together.  Then 
with  one  whispered  word,  "  Traitor ! "  she  swept 
from  the  room. 

When  she  reached  the  end  of  the  long  gallery 
she  paused  like  one  dazed,  and  sank  down  on  the 


434          A    TRANSATLANTIC    CHATELAINE. 

lowest  step  of  the  turning  stone  stairs.  She  felt 
that  a  great  calamity  had  come  to  her ;  some 
thing  unheard  of  ;  a  stain  was  on  her,  a  corrod 
ing  stain.  There  was  no  future ;  her  life  was 
all  compressed  into  this  moment  of  realization. 
And  she  had  thought  that  she  had  known  what 
it  meant  to  suffer.  Never  until  now  had  she 
imagined  what  shame  was.  As  she  crouched 
in  the  obscurity  she  saw  Pierre  passing  through 
the  hall  with  a  freshly  laden  tray,  and  the  sight 
roused  her.  She  was  selfish,  wicked,  to  give  way 
to  her  own  feelings,  when  Maurice's  life  was  in 
danger.  He  must  be  saved.  He  must  be  saved ! 
But  how  ? 

Her  mind  worked  rapidly,  but  she  could  find 
no  answer  to  the  desperate  question.  There  was 
no  one  to  advise  her,  no  one  to  whom  she  could 
turn  for  help.  She  thought  of  Monsieur  Reg- 
nier,  but  he  was  on  the  other  side  of  the  river; 
it  would  be  mere  loss  of  time  to  try  to  reach 
him.  Again  Pierre  came  from  her  room,  going 
painfully  towards  the  kitchen  wing ;  no  aid  could 
be  sought  from  him,  for  he  was  too  old  and  crip 
pled.  Perhaps  when  Justine  returned  she  might 
suggest  some  plan.  Even  as  Sylvia  thought  of 
this,  the  fear  struck  her  that  it  was  probable 
that  the  countess  and  the  servant  would  pass 
the  night  with  the  dying  woman.  The  whole 
country  was  sprinkled  over  with  Prussians  ;  their 


A    TRANSATLANTIC    CHATELAINE.          435 

homeward  road  might  be  intercepted,  or  again, 
they  might  be  unwilling  to  leave  their  unfortu 
nate  charge  to  face  death  alone.  She  must  de 
pend  on  herself  only,  and  she  must  act  quickly. 
As  she  came  to  this  conclusion,  with  a  hopeless 
sense  of  its  futility,  she  heard  a  sound  of  horses' 
hoofs.  "  They  are  bringing  him  back,"  she 
thought,  and  a  gleam  of  hope  flashed  across  the 
hopeless  darkness.  The  door  of  the  farther  end 
opened  once  more,  and  again  old  Pierre  came 
out,  this  time  hurrying  fast. 

"What  is  it?"  said  Sylvia  going  towards 
him. 

"  Officers  —  Prussians  —  I  am  going  to  warn 
my  master,"  he  replied,  continuing  on  his  breath 
less  way. 

As  he  disappeared  the  great  hall  door  was 
thrown  open,  and  half  a  dozen  men  strode  in. 
Sylvia  stood  under  the  hanging  lamp,  as  if  to 
welcome  them ;  in  her  enemies  she  saw  her 
chance  to  save  Maurice.  They  spoke  for  a  mo 
ment  among  themselves,  and  then  one  advanced 
towards  her. 

"  You  are  the  mistress  of  this  place,  Ma 
dame?" 

She  returned  his  bow.  "  I  am  the  Countess 
de  La  Roche ;  I  am  an  American,"  she  replied. 
She  felt  that  her  nationality  might  be  of  some 
use  to  her. 


436          A    TRANSATLANTIC    CHATELAINE. 

The  officer  bowed  again,  and  said,  "  I  am  afraid 
we  must  thrust  ourselves  upon  your  hospitality, 
Madame,  for  this  night." 

"  My  house  is  at  your  service,  Monsieur ;  in 
return  I  want  your  advice.  A  friend  of  mine 
was  discovered  here  this  evening  by  one  of  your 
countrymen  ;  he  was  naturally  supposed  to  be 
my  husband,  and  as  he  was  in  peasant's  dress  he 
was  taken  for  a  spy.  He  is  no  spy ;  but  they 
took  him  to  Chaumont,  and  —  he  is  to  be  shot. 
How  can  I  save  him  ?  " 

Sylvia,  as  she  spoke,  felt  that  every  word  was 
a  lie.  She  was  acting  some  strange  part,  too 
terrible  to  be  true  ;  it  was  only  grotesque. 

The  Prussian  looked  grave.  "  Prince  Frederic 
Charles  is  at  Chaumont  for  this  one  night,"  he 
said  after  a  slight  pause.  "  Your  only  hope  is  in 
him.  You  can  prove  that  your  friend  was  not 
here  as  a  spy  ?  " 

"  I  can,"  she  answered. 

"  You  had  better  go  at  once  to  Chaumont 
and  plead  your  cause  with  the  Prince,"  he  con 
tinued.  "  I  will  give  you  a  pass  —  you  will  need 
it.  The  villages  are  pretty  well  occupied." 

"Thank  you,  Monsieur,"  was  Sylvia's  only 
answer,  but  her  eyes  spoke  eloquently. 

"  I  shall  want  something  to  write  on,"  he 
said. 

She  led  the  way  to  her  salon,  carrying  a  lamp 


A    TRANSATLANTIC    CHATELAINE.  437 

to  light  them.  The  officer  seated  himself  at  her 
table,  and  wrote  a  few  words  on  a  piece  of 
paper. 

"  There,  Madame,  that  will  help  you  to  reach 
the  Prince ;  more  I  cannot  do ;  you  must  finish 
your  task  yourself.  Now,  with  your  permission, 
I  will  make  the  best  of  the  few  hours  of  com 
fort  I  may  have  here." 

"  The  entire  chateau  is  yours,  Monsieur,  ex 
cept  my  room."  She  pointed  to  the  door  beyond 
which  she  had  last  seen  her  husband.  "  My 
baby  is  asleep  there." 

"  He  shall  not  be  disturbed.  Good  luck, 
Madame." 

The  Prussian  spoke  pleasantly,  but  he  was 
not  sorry  to  be  left  to  the  enjoyment  of  a  good 
night's  rest. 

Sylvia  thanked  him  earnestly,  and  then,  find 
ing  a  fur  cloak  and  a  black  lace  mantilla  in  the 
hall,  holding  fast  her  precious  paper  she  hurried 
out  into  the  night.  She  hardly  sent  a  thought 
back  to  Philippe,  hidden  like  a  thief  in  his  own 
home  ;  Pierre  would  save  him.  She  did  wish 
that  she  might  have  kissed  little  Louis  once, 
that  she  had  been  able  to  tuck  him  into  his 
crib ;  but  even  that  wish  was  vague  compared 
to  the  dominating  idea,  "  Save  Maurice."  She, 
who  had  never  humbled  herself,  would  kneel  to 
the  Prince  for  him.  She  could  not  fail,  she  was 
strong.  He  should  live. 


438          A    TRANSATLANTIC    CHATELAINE. 

Knowing  a  path  skirting  the  vineyards  be 
longing  to  the  property,  she  was  able  to  avoid 
going  through  the  village,  where,  as  she  rightly 
conjectured,  a  detachment  of  Prussians  was 
quartered  for  the  night ;  but  once  beyond  this 
boundary  she  was  obliged  to  follow  the  main 
road.  She  bent  her  head,  and  kept  steadily  on 
against  the  cruel,  exhausting  wind,  rushing  down 
the  valley  as  through  a  tunnel.  A  small  band 
of  horsemen  passed  her,  bringing  her  heart 
to  her  mouth,  but  they  did  not  notice  the  dark 
figure  shrinking  towards  the  leafless  hedge.  A 
little  further  along  an  ammunition  wagon  had 
broken  down,  and  a  group  of  soldiers  was  stand 
ing  about  it.  She  passed  them,  too,  unchal 
lenged.  Then  came  the  first  town,  a  small 
place,  but  alive  to-night ;  lights  in  the  houses, 
people  coming  and  going.  This  was  the  first 
test ;  would  the  words  on  the  paper  be  of  use 
here  ?  A  picket  was  walking  back  and  forth 
across  the  road,  the  light  from  a  window  stream 
ing  out,  making  a  wide  track  of  yellow  over  the 
gray  ground.  There  could  be  no  shirking  here. 

Sylvia  walked  up  to  the  man  without  a  word, 
holding  out  her  paper.  He  scanned  it  closely, 
folded  it,  and  called  a  man  lounging  within  the 
lighted  room,  who  escorted  her  through  the  vil 
lage,  beyond  the  sentry  at  the  other  end.  Now 
she  could  think,  her  mind  being  relieved  of  the 


A  TRANSATLANTIC  CHATELAINE.'    439 

fear  that  her  passport  would  prove  useless.  It 
was  a  cruel  privilege,  for  all  the  horrors  of  her 
situation  crowded  upon  her  as  she  kept  reso 
lutely  on,  to  save  Maurice,  unheeding  cold  and 
fatigue.  The  brutal  fact  thrust  itself  before 
her.  The  man  she  had  married,  her  husband, 
the  father  of  her  child,  had  deliberately  sacri 
ficed  another  man  to  save  himself.  A  sob  rose 
in  her  throat,  and  she  felt  her  eyes  wet  with 
tears,  as  she  thought  of  Maurice  that  evening 
in  her  room.  His  dress  had  made  him  look 
boyish,  and  the  light  in  his  eyes  had  banished 
the  expression  of  hardness  and  age  which  had 
pained  her  the  day  she  had  seen  him  at  La 
Source. 

"  He  is  too  young  to  die  ;  too  brave  to  be 
sacrificed.  Oh,  my  God,  help  me  —  help  me 
save  him  "  — 

She  had  no  future ;  everything  was  chaos  be 
yond  this  night's  work.  Her  paper  took  her  in 
safety  through  the  other  hamlets  lying  between 
her  and  Chaumont,  and  when  at  last  the  lights 
from  the  castle  on  the  hill  twinkled  high  above 
her,  she  felt  that  a  lifetime  had  slipped  by  since 
she  left  La  Roche.  The  gate  of  the  avenue  was 
guarded,  but  here,  also,  the  few  words  did  their 
duty,  and  as  in  a  dream  she  began  to  ascend  the 
long  slope  of  the  hill,  a  soldier  by  her  side  with 
a  lantern.  The  drawbridge  was  passed ;  the 


440  .1    TRANSATLANTIC    CHATELAINE. 

courtyard  entered ;  lights  gleamed  from  every 
window;  soldiers  were  coming  and  going;  all 
was  movement  and  bustle  after  the  awful  gloom 
of  the  night  without.  Sylvia  saw  her  guide 
speak  to  one  of  the  men,  and  they  both  looked 
at  her ;  then  they  approached  an  officer  who 
had  just  come  out  from  one  of  the  doors.  He 
snatched  the  paper,  read  it  hastily,  and  then 
came  clanking  towards  her. 

"  You  wish  to  see  Prince  Frederic  Charles," 
he  said,  brusquely. 

"Yes,  Monsieur." 

"  Is  your  business  important  ?  He  is  much 
occupied  to-night." 

"  It  is  a  question  of  life  and  death,  Mon 
sieur."  Sylvia  spoke  haughtily ;  the  man's 
manner  roused  her. 

"  Step  in  there,  and  I  will  see  what  can  be 
done,"  he  replied,  pointing  to  a  small  room 
under  the  entrance  arch. 

She  went  down  the  two  steps  leading  to  it. 
Three  Prussians  were  seated  by  the  fire,  smok 
ing.  Two  of  them  paid  her  no  attention,  but 
the  third,  hardly  more  than  a  boy,  offered  her 
his  chair  witli  a  kindly  look  in  his  blue  eyes. 
As  she  took  it,  bowing  her  thanks,  she  thought, 
"  Oh,  I  hope  no  one  will  be  gentle  with  me  — 
I  can't  bear  that ;  only  let  them  be  rough  and 
rude." 


A    TRANSATLANTIC    CHATELAINE.          441 

Her  lace  fell  over  her  face,  and  the  cloak  hid 
her  figure.  She  sat  in  her  place,  unnoticed,  for 
hours,  it  seemed  to  her,  while  doors  opened  and 
shut,  soldiers  hurried  in  and  out,  messages  were 
delivered ;  and  every  moment  the  fear  grew 
strong  and  the  hope  which  had  buoyed  her  up 
faded  away.  Maurice  was  here,  in  the  same 
building  —  and  he  was  under  sentence  of  death 
—  he  would  be  shot  at  daybreak  —  Philippe 
had  said  so.  In  her  absorption  she  did  not 
shudder  at  the  thought  of  her  husband. 

At  last  an  officer  entered,  and  approaching 
her  told  her  to  follow  him  to  the  Prince,  who 
had  agreed  to  see  her. 

"  But,  Madame,  the  interview  must  be  a  very 
short  one,"  he  warned  her. 

She  bent  her  head,  stifled  by  the  emotions  of 
the  moment,  but  she  followed  him  steadily,  al 
though  nearly  unconsciously.  Her  progress  was 
a  blank  to  her,  and  she  was  aware  of  nothing 
until  she  found  herself  in  a  small,  lofty  room  ; 
the  windows,  sunk  deep  in  the  walls  and  heavily 
barred,  gave  the  effect  of  a  prison ;  she  under 
stood  vaguely  that  she  was  with  the  Prince,  alone 
with  him,  although  she  had  not  noticed  when  her 
conductor  left  them.  Afterwards  she  never  was 
able  to  recall  anything  of  the  Prince's  appear 
ance,  except  two  searching  brilliant  eyes,  and  a 
well-formed  sinewy  hand  holding  a  pen.  He  was 


442         A    TRANSATLANTIC    CHATELAINE. 

seated  at  a  table  covered  with  papers  and  maps, 
and  at  her  entrance  he  had  risen,  and  pointed  to 
a  chair  which  stood  as  if  ready  for  her  opposite 
his.  Time  was  precious  to  the  man  of  war  ;  lie 
looked  impatiently  at  the  silent  figure  before 
him,  and  then  spoke  a  little  abruptly. 

"You  will  forgive  me,  Madame,  if  I  remind 
you  that  I  can  only  give  you  very  little  time." 

Sylvia  felt  stifled  ;  she  undid  the  clasp  at  her 
throat,  pushing  the  furs  back,  and  drew  the  lace 
away  from  her  throat.  At  first  words  would  not 
come,  but  her  eyes,  heavy  with  pleading,  her 
clasped  hands,  the  swaying,  beseeching  attitude 
of  her  figure,  above  all  her  beauty,  touched  some 
chord  in  the  heart  of  the  Prince,  and  prepared 
him  to  listen  with  indulgence.  Twice  she  opened 
her  mouth  as  if  to  speak,  and  twice  the  lips 
trembled  with  the  agony  of  fear  ;  she  could  have 
faced  anything  for  herself  with  unshaken  cour 
age,  but  it  was  Maurice's  life  which  hung  in  the 
balance. 

At  last  the  words  came,  low,  but  distinct. 
"  Monseigneur  has  a  prisoner  here,  Monsieur  le 
Capitaine  Maurice  Regnier  ;  I  have  come  to  save 
him." 

The  Prince  raised  his  eyebrows  ;  if  the  ques 
tion  had  not  been  so  grave  he  would  have  been 
amused.  "  Regnier  is  the  name  you  say, 
Madame  ?  " 


A    TRANSATLANTIC    CHATELAINE.  443 

"  Yes,  Monseigneur." 

He  blew  two  shrill  blasts  on  a  whistle,  and  an 
orderly  entered,  to  whom  he  gave  an  order.  In 
another  moment  an  officer  came  into  the  room, 
an  elderly  man,  with  a  grizzled  beard,  and  an 
indifferent,  cold  expression  that  seemed  more  ill- 
omened  than  an  actively  aggressive  one.  The 
Prince  spoke  to  the  newcomer  in  a  low  voice, 
evidently  not  meant  for  Sylvia's  ears.  She  with 
drew  into  one  of  the  deep  window  recesses,  where 
she  could  hear  nothing  ;  but  she  watched  them 
closely.  The  Prince's  face  grew  grave  and  offi 
cial.  The  officer  spoke  without  gestures,  and 
she  could  see  no  sign  of  any  interest  in  his  man 
ner  ;  it  was  a  matter  of  business,  nothing  more. 
When  he  had  finished  his  account  he  stood 
motionless  ;  the  Prince  drew  some  figures  in  an 
absent-minded  way  on  a  bit  of  paper ;  then  he 
dismissed  his  subordinate,  and  looked  towards 
the  window.  Sylvia  came  again  to  the  table, 
and  sat  down  opposite  to  him. 

At  first  he  did  not  look  up,  but  went  on  mak 
ing  idle  marks  on  the  paper ;  then  with  an  evi 
dent  effort  he  said  :  "  This  is  a  grave  affair, 
Madame.  Captain  Regnier  was  captured  within 
our  lines  in  disguise ;  you  know  what  that  means, 
of  course  ?  " 

"  It  means  that  he  was  taken  for  a  spy,"  she 
answered  with  growing  resolution  ;  "  and  I  have 


444  A    TRANSATLANTIC    CHATELAINE. 

come  to  tell  Monseigneur  that  he  was  not  there 
as  a  spy  ;  he  had  crossed  the  river  ;  he  was  nearly 
frozen,  and  had  left  his  wet  clothes  at  a  peasant's 
to  dry  —  but  he  was  not  there  as  a  spy." 

"Yet  he  passed  himself  off  as  the  Count  de 
La  Roche  ?  " 

As  he  said  this,  Sylvia's  face  grew  rigid  ;  it 
might  be  that  to  save  Maurice  she  would  be 
forced  to  betray  her  husband.  The  Prince  no 
ticed  the  sudden  change  in  her  expression. 

"  And,"  he  continued,  "  he  was  found  in  your 
room." 

The  memory  of  Philippe's  insulting  suspicion 
rushed  over  her  ;  if  he  could  misjudge  her,  who 
should  know  her  character,  what  would  a  stranger 
think  ?  The  blood  surged  to  her  cheeks,  but  she 
remained  silent. 

Her  confusion  puzzled  the  Prince  ;  it  compli 
cated  matters  ;  he  went  on  slowly  and  impres 
sively.  "  There  is  something  more  to  be  cleared 
up,  Madame.  It  is  known  that  the  real  Count 
de  La  Roche  escaped  from  Paris  by  balloon, 
and  was  traced  to  his  chateau,  where  Captain 
Regnier  was  taken  ;  the  count  is  strongly  sus 
pected  of  being  the  bearer  of  important  papers, 
and  this  Regnier  was  evidently  in  communica 
tion  with  him." 

"  But  there  were  no  papers,"  said  Sylvia 
eagerly. 


A    TRANSATLANTIC   CHATELAINE.         445 

The  Prince  bowed,  with  a  smile  which  spoke 
volumes.  She  leaned  towards  him,  her  eyes  look 
ing  straight  at  him,  all  alive  with  fire  ;  all  con 
ventions  were  forgotten  ;  it  was  not  the  Prince 
to  whom  she  spoke ;  it  was  the  man  to  whom 
she  appealed  directly. 

"  Oh,  you  must  believe  me  — you  must.  My 
God,  if  there  had  been  papers,  I  could  have 
borne  it  better  —  but  he  only  wanted  to  save 
himself,  that  is  what  makes  it  so  terrible.  If 
there  had  been  any  hope  for  France  —  any  at 
tempt  even  on  his  part  to  save  her  —  I  could 
have  borne  it  —  I  should  never  have  come  here. 
Maurice  would  have  died  for  his  country,  and  I 
would  have  gloried  in  his  death ;  but  it  was  all 
treachery,  all  for  private  ends,  that  he  was  sacri 
ficed." 

She  was  superb  in  her  excitement ;  the  Prince 
looked  at  her  with  open  admiration. 

"  I  am  still  a  little  in  the  dark,  Madame,"  he 
said.  "  You  give  me  to  understand  that  your 
husband  was  not  the  bearer  of  papers  from 
Paris?" 

"  Yes,  Monseigneur." 

"  And  that  Captain  Regnier  did  not  cross  the 
Loire  to  communicate  with  him  ?" 

She  could  not  answer.  Maurice  should  not 
be  saved  by  a  lie.  The  Prince  gave  her  a  search 
ing  look  ;  her  distress  was  so  evident  that  it 
touched  him. 


446          A    TRANSATLANTIC    CHATELAINE. 

"Why,  then,"  he  continued,  "did  your  hus 
band  arrive  in  such  a  way,  at  such  a  time,  within 
our  lines,  if  he  had  no  papers?  You  know, 
Madame,  that  it  is  not  an  easy  matter  to  charter 
a  balloon." 

"  Monseigneur,  he  was  ignorant  of  the  pres 
ence  of  your  troops  ;  he  is  invalided,  and  is  try 
ing  to  reach  Monte  Carlo  ;  it  was  an  accident 
that  forced  him  to  land  as  he  did,  —  a  bullet 
pierced  his  balloon,  he  was  pursued,  and  hid  in 
the  chateau ;  the  Prussians,  on  his  track,  entered, 
and  found  Monsieur  Regnier.  He  believed,  as 
Monseigneur  did,  that  Monsieur  de  La  Roche 
had  important  papers,  and  to  save  him  took  his 
place.  Then,  when  I  found  out  the  mistake,  I 
came  to  tell  the  truth  to  Monseigneur." 

The  first  agitation  had  passed  away,  and  the 
sound  of  her  own  voice  reassured  her  ;  she  was 
so  strong  in  her  knowledge,  so  sure  that  the  truth 
must  prevail  now  that  she  found  herself  face  to 
face  with  her  last  chance,  that  her  strong  will 
reasserted  itself.  The  man  with  the  power  of 
life  and  death  in  his  hands  sat  looking  at  her 
with  open  admiration.  He  thought  less  of  the 
supposed  spy,  condemned  to  a  hasty  death,  than 
of  the  woman  pleading  for  him,  —  her  beauty, 
her  courage,  her  energy,  all  appealed  strongly  to 
him.  Accustomed  to  the  study  of  men,  he  was 
convinced  of  the  truth  of  her  story.  Besides, 


A    TRANSATLANTIC    CHATELAINE.         447 

what  did  one  French  life  more  or  less  matter? 
Even  if  the  case  against  Regnier  were  graver, 
yet  it  would  be  worth  while  to  see  that  face  with 
the  glow  of  joy  upon  it  which  a  word  from  him 
could  call  forth. 

"  Since  seeing  you,  Madame,  it  is  not  impos 
sible  to  believe  that  something  better  than  duty 
induced  this  beau  sabreur  to  risk  his  life  cross 
ing  the  Loire." 

For  a  second  she  did  not  understand  his 
meaning.  Then,  as  it  came  to  her  that  he, 
like  her  husband,  regarded  her  with  unworthy 
suspicions,  the  fine  lines  of  her  face  became 
scornful.  How  small  the  minds  were,  capable 
of  such  low  thoughts.  She  rose,  for  the  moment 
forgetting  everything  but  her  insulted  dignity, 
and  drew  her  cloak  about  her. 

"  I  thought  that  I  was  safe  in  throwing  my 
self  on  the  chivalry  of  Prince  Frederic  Charles." 

His  chivalry  was  touched  as  well  as  his  hero 
ism  ;  he  was  too  brave  himself  not  to  recognize 
courage  in  another.  "  And  you  were  right. 
Wait,  Madame,"  he  said  with  respectful  author 
ity.  "  Sit  down  again,  and  wait.  You  have 
persuaded  me  that  this  man  is  no  spy.  What  I 
am  about  to  do  is  the  action  of  the  Prince,  of  the 
man  —  not  of  the  officer.  He  was  to  have  been 
shot  at  daybreak,  for  he  would  offer  no  explana 
tion  ;  but  here  is  his  release."  As  he  spoke,  he 


448         A    TRANSATLANTIC    CHATELAINE. 

wrote  a  few  words  rapidly  on  a  piece  of  paper, 
and  when  he  looked  up  again  his  eyes  were 
kindly. 

"  You  may  take  him  the  good  news  yourself." 
She  had  won  ;  Maurice  was  free.  The  color 
rushed  over  her  face  and  her  bosom  rose  and 
fell.  In  her  gratitude  she  could  have  kneeled 
to  the  man  who  had  saved  her  hero ;  no  words 
came ;  but  she  raised  the  Prince's  hand  to  her 
lips,  and  her  eyes  spoke  for  her.  He  was 
touched  and  interested  by  the  romance  of  the 
episode  ;  for  a  moment  thoughts  of  warfare  were 
banished,  and  he  wondered  what  the  end  of  it 
would  be.  In  his  turn  he  bent  over  her  hand, 
and  there  was  a  sincere  ring  in  his  voice  as  he 
said,  "  Gliick  auf !  " 


CHAPTER   XXI. 

MAURICE  EEGNIER  had  been  conducted  to  a 
room  high  up  in  one  of  the  massive  towers  of 
the  chateau,  after  a  brief  and  unsatisfactory  ex 
amination.  He  had  given  his  own  name,  but  had 
resolutely  withheld  any  other  information.  The 
evidence  that  he  was  a  spy  was  strong  against 
him,  and  his  sentence  was  only  what  was  to  have 
been  expected  in  the  unstable  condition  of  affairs. 
He  was  to  be  shot  at  daybreak.  The  officer  con 
ducting  the  matter  had  been  kindly  enough  in  a 
rough  fashion,  and  had  arranged  to  send  for  the 
prisoner's  father. 

Captain  Regnier's  name  was  well  known,  and 
gallantry  is  respected  by  gallant  men  in  friend 
or  foe.  The  room  where  he  was  imprisoned 
was  but  a  section  of  the  tower,  and  irregular  in 
form.  Without,  a  covered  gallery  made  the  cir 
cuit  of  the  building,  and  Maurice  could  hear  the 
measured  tread  of  the  sentinel  as  he  made  his 
monotonous  round.  Escape  was  so  impossible 
that  he  had  been  allowed  the  luxury  of  solitude, 
and  there  he  waited  alone  for  death.  He  had 
not  accepted  the  inevitable,  however,  without 


450  A    TRANSATLANTIC    CHATELAINE. 

first  making  every  investigation  for  a  possible 
escape  ;  but  he  was  soon  convinced  that  any  at 
tempt  would  be  hopeless. 

He  dreaded  the  interview  with  his  father  more 
than  anything.  "  But,"  he  thought,  "  it  is  only 
what  he  and  I  have  both  faced  all  along,  and 
neither  of  us  looked  forward  to  my  death  mean 
ing  more  than  a  little  barren  personal  honor  ; 
now  it  means  hope  for  France." 

He  had  imagined  Philippe's  course  when  he 
found  himself  free ;  had  planned  a  hundred 
ways  for  him  to  cross  the  river,  and  tried  to 
remember  if  he  had  told  him  where  his  horse 
was  to  be  found. 

Then  a  solemn  wonder  came  to  him  :  Would 
he  ever  know  whether  the  sortie  proved  success 
ful  ?  In  a  few  hours  death's  mystery  would  be 
explained  to  him.  By  this  time  to-morrow  the 
wisdom  of  eternity  would  be  his  —  or  oblivion. 
But  that  seemed  too  great  an  impossibility  for 
him  to  grasp  :  there  was  no  reality  in  the  sugges 
tion. 

Over  and  under  all  these  thoughts  was  the 
atmosphere  of  his  love  for  Sylvia.  How  could 
the  feeling  die  that  sent  the  blood  coursing 
through  his  veins  ?  No  bullet  could  crush  that 
out  of  existence. 

"  Poor  child,"  he  thought,  drawing  his  hand 
across  his  eyes.  "  She  believed  that  she  could 


A    TRANSATLANTIC    CHATELAINE.  451 

save  me,  when  she  promised  to  —  when  she 
kissed  me."  Then  a  wish  rose  in  his  heart  that 
she  might  die  with  him.  "  Philippe  has  never 
been  worthy  of  her ;  but  this  may  be  the  turn 
ing-  point  in  his  life  —  he  may  come  out  all  right 
after  all."  In  spite  of  the  passing  moments  this 
thought  brought  a  sting ;  but  he  crushed  down 
the  unworthy  feeling.  "  I  should  wish  her  to 
be  able  to  respect  him  —  yes  —  love  him,  if  she 
can." 

Gradually  the  solitude  of  his  situation  came 
over  him ;  the  stupendous  isolation  of  dying. 
His  whole  being  seemed  swallowed  up  in  a  glori 
ous  trustfulness  ;  words  were  nothing.  He  could 
give  no  name  to  the  Being  he  looked  up  to ;  but 
as  with  a  flash  of  inward  light  he  felt  that  the 
love  he  had  lavished  on  Sylvia,  and  the  adora 
tion  for  his  country  which  led  him  to  lay  down 
his  life  for  it,  were  but  symbols  of  higher  feel 
ings,  nobler  opportunities.  If  this  world  were 
all,  why  had  not  some  instinct  pulled  him  irre 
sistibly  away  from  self-sacrifice,  instead  of  irre 
sistibly  driving  him  towards  it  ?  No  prayer 
was  on  his  lip,  but  his  mental  attitude  was  wor 
ship.  He  could  bear  it  all  now  ;  not  for  himself 
only,  that  was  comparatively  easy ;  but  for  Syl 
via  and  his  father.  His  foot  was  on  the  thresh 
old  of  eternity  ;  he  thought  that  all  his  battles 
had  been  fought,  both  with  seen  and  unseen 


452          A    TRANSATLANTIC    CHATELAINE. 

foes.  He  felt  that  he  had  conquered  self ;  but 
the  supreme  trial  was  yet  to  come. 

Suddenly  a  sound  disturbed  him :  some  one 
was  undoing  the  door  from  without,  and  he  felt 
a  wave  of  regret  pass  over  him ;  for  he  thought 
that  it  was  his  father,  and  he  longed  indescrib 
ably  to  save  him  from  suffering.  He  rose  and 
found  himself  face  to  face  with  Sylvia.  To  her 
the  sight  of  him  came  almost  as  a  surprise. 
Until  this  minute  she  had  gone  on  her  way  like 
a  spirit ;  there  had  been  no  thought  of  self  in  her 
mind,  only  of  what  she  must  do.  The  intensity 
of  force  thrown  by  her  into  compelling  every 
thing  to  give  way  to  her  will  had  made  her 
oblivious  of  her  own  personality.  Up  to  the 
moment  when  she  saw  him,  Maurice  had  been  an 
idea,  and  she  herself  something  elemental,  work 
ing  for  this  idea.  But  when  she  found  herself 
face  to  face  with  him,  the  exalted  look  still 
about  him  ;  when  she  realized  how  near  he  had 
been  to  a  shameful,  useless  death  ;  above  all, 
when  her  long-smothered  love  broke  into  flame 
—  then  the  strain  was  too  much  for  her  to  bear, 
shaken  as  she  was  by  the  terrible  emotions  of 
the  last  hours. 

The  mere  sight  of  Maurice  seemed  to  promise 
her  safety  and  protection,  and  she  came  swiftly 
towards  him,  her  hands  held  out,  her  whole  look 
one  of  triumph.  Without  a  thought,  instinc- 


A    TRANSATLANTIC    CHATELAINE.          453 

tively,  he  put  his  arms  about  her  and  held  her 
close  to  him.  Her  head  rested  on  his  shoulder ; 
he  felt  a  tremor  run  over  her,  then  came  the 
words,  telling  what  he  seemed  to  know  already. 

"  My  Maurice,  I  have  saved  you !  You  are 
mine  —  I  am  yours." 

Was  this  the  same  man  who,  not  five  min 
utes  before,  had  sat  waiting  for  death  ?  Every 
thing  faded  and  grew  dim,  except  the  one  fact 
that  in  his  arms  rested  Sylvia,  her  wonderful 
eyes  storehouses  of  rapturous  promise,  looking 
deep  into  his  own.  Death,  life,  what  were 
they  ?  Shadows.  Only  this  was  real.  He  did 
not  question  what  had  brought  her  to  him ;  it 
was  enough  to  feel  her  presence. 

Then  the  shadows  deepened  and  became  real 
again.  This  was  a  temptation,  and  his  face  had 
been  turned  heavenwards  too  recently  for  him  to 
be  able  to  shake  off  its  influence.  With  infinite 
tenderness  he  drew  away  from  her  embrace,  and 
putting  his  hands  on  her  shoulders  looked  full 
into  her  eyes,  an  expression  in  his  of  wistful 
strength. 

"  I  must  not  accept  this  sacrifice ;  you  must 
help  me  to  renounce  you,  my  Sylvia.  You  are 
a  wife  and  a  mother.  Not  by  word  or  look  will 
I  give  you  any  cause  for  remorse  hereafter." 

"  No,  Maurice,  in  God's  sight  I  am  no  wife. 
He  won  me  by  treachery  away  from  you,  my 


454          A    Tit  AN  S  ATLANTIC    CHATELAINE. 

king,  my  hero.  Love  me,  Maurice,  love  me  — 
care  for  me.  It  is  fate  that  brings  me  to  you. 
I  have  always  waited  for  you.  Even  as  a  child 
I  adored  honor,  and  bravery,  and  truth  —  and 
they  mean  you.  Oh,  do  not  send  me  away  —  I 
am  so  frightened.  I  cannot  go  back  to  him." 

Tears  came  to  her  eyes,  and  her  lips  trem 
bled  ;  she  clasped  her  hands,  but  still  he  held 
her  from  him. 

"  Sylvia,  listen  to  me.  You  are,  as  you  al 
ways  were,  my  queen  among  women  —  my  ideal. 
You  say  I  am  not  to  die  ;  as  yet  I  cannot  under 
stand  it.  I  have  been  so  near  death  ;  and  as  I 
looked  forward,  trying  to  see  beyond  the  grave, 
you  were  with  me  as  truly  as  you  are  now  — 
you,  my  darling,  and  my  father.  Now  let  us 
think  —  help  me,  help  me,  for  you  tempt  me 
sorely.  Oh,  Sylvia,  I  love  you  so,  and  I  must 
give  you  up." 

He  turned  away  with  a  groan,  his  self-control 
shaken  under  the  power  of  her  face.  She  came 
close  to  him  again. 

"  Hear  me,  Maurice  —  you  do  not  know  all. 
You  must  not  believe  that  I  come  to  you  with 
out  a  struggle.  I  have  been  brave,  and  true  to 
my  husband,  for  your  sake.  I  knew  you  loved 
me,  and  I  would  not  have  you  love  a  faulty 
woman.  Until  to-night  I  have  been  brave  be 
cause  you  were  ;  but  now  that  I  know  what  he 


A    TRANSATLANTIC    CHATELAINE.          455 

is,  my  courage  and  strength  have  gone.     I  can 
struggle  no  longer." 

She  sank  on  a  chair  and  bowed  her  head.  The 
attitude  of  helplessness  touched  Maurice  irresist 
ibly  ;  he  came  and  knelt  by  her  side. 

"  Tell  me  all ;  has  he  hurt  you  ?  If  he  has 
harmed  a  hair  of  your  head  I  '11  kill  him !  " 

As  he  spoke  he  took  her  hands  in  his. 

"  Oh,  he  has  not  hurt  me.  I  could  have  borne 
that.  It  is  you  he  has  injured  from  the  first. 
He  lied  about  you  to  gain  me  in  the  beginning. 
He  betrayed  you  to-night  to  save  himself." 

The  anger  in  herN  eyes  kindled  an  answering 
flame  in  his.  His  voice  was  very  low  as  he  said, 
"You  say  he  took  you  from  me  by  a  lie  —  you 
say  he  betrayed  me  to-night?  Think  before  you 
answer  me,  Sylvia,  for  a  man's  life  hangs  on  your 
words." 

She  began  to  speak  very  slowly  and  delib 
erately.  "  He  won  me  by  a  slanderous  lie,  — 
and  still  I  kept  my  vow  as  his  wife.  I  tried  to 
turn  even  my  thoughts  away  from  you.  Until 
to-night  I  considered  myself  bound  to  him  ;  but 
then,  when  I  found  that  he  had  deliberately  sent 
you  to  your  death,  that  he  might  dine  —  Oh, 
Maurice,  the  thought  is  driving  me  mad." 

There  was  no  deliberation  now,  the  words 
came  with  feverish  haste.  "  He  was  false  all 
through  —  false  —  and  a  coward.  There  were 


456  A  TRANSATLANTIC    CHATELAINE. 

no  papers  for  Chanzy  —  there  is  no  hope  of  a 
sortie  —  he  is  running  away,  and  he  lied  to  help 
himself." 

Maurice  had  listened,  growing  whiter  and 
whiter.  He  had  crushed  Sylvia's  hands,  still  held 
in  his,  until  she  could  have  cried  out  with  pain 
had  she  been  less  absorbed ;  then  as  if  afraid  of 
hurting  her  in  his  passion,  he  flung  them  from 
him,  and  turned  away,  a  blind  instinct  warning 
him  to  hide  his  face,  terrible  in  its  rage. 

Neither  of  them  had  heard  Monsieur  Regnier 
enter  the  room.  He  had  been  told  on  reaching 
the  chateau  of  his  son's  reprieve,  and  tremulous 
with  the  unexpected  joy  had  hastened  to  him. 
He  had  heard  Sylvia's  story,  and  his  son's  face 
shocked  him  when  he  turned  from  her.  Maurice 
strode  towards  him,  laying  his  hand  heavily  on 
the  old  man's  shoulder. 

"  You  have  heard  ?  "  he  said. 

Monsieur  Regnier  bent  his  head. 

"  How  soon  can  I  leave  this  place  ?  My  work 
must  not  wait." 

"  You  are  free  now,  Maurice,"  answered  his 
father  ;  "  your  pardon  is  unconditional." 

"•  Then  you  will  care  for  Sylvia  in  my  absence  ? 
She  is  mine  now.  I  must  go  back  to  headquar 
ters  after  I  have  killed  that  man." 

He  spoke  as  if  no  one  could  contradict  or  ques 
tion  his  decision,  but  calmly  spoken  as  it  was,  it 


A    TRANSATLANTIC    CHATELAINE.  457 

conveyed  a  grim  sense  of  finality  that  shook  his 
listeners.  Sylvia  started  up. 

"  Not  that  —  not  murder,  Maurice,"  she  said 
commandingly. 

"And  why  not?"  he  answered  sharply;  "is 
it  murder  to  kill  a  wolf  ?  The  man  must  die." 

She  came  close  to  him,  almost  timidly ;  his 
heavy-contained  anger  was  more  fearful  than  any 
storm  of  ravings  could  have  been. 

"  Maurice,  my  love,  I  have  given  you  your 
life ;  I  give  you  mine ;  but  do  not  separate  us 
forever  by  such  a  deed.  How  could  I  face  my 
child  if  I  loved  his  father's  murderer?  And 
God  help  me,  nothing  you  ever  did  could  keep 
me  from  loving  you.  If  you  do  this  deed,  you 
kill  not  one  but  two  —  for  now  I  cannot  live 
without  you  —  death  would  be  better  than  life 
away  from  you  —  so  I  should  die." 

There  was  no  answering  softness  in  his  face ; 
it  was  set  in  lines  of  granite.  As  if  he  had  not 
heard  her,  he  repeated,  "  The  man  must  die." 

Sylvia  looked  appealingly  at  Monsieur  Reg- 
nier.  He  spoke. 

"  There  is  another  reason  that  Sylvia  has  over 
looked  why  you  may  not  have  the  blood  of  Phi 
lippe  de  La  Roche  on  your  hands.  He  has 
wronged  you  cruelly,  but  he  and  you  are  of  the 
same  race ;  I  am  his  father's  unacknowledged 
brother.  When  you  recall  that  father,  Maurice, 


458         A    TRANSATLANTIC    CHATELAINE. 

and  his  many  kindnesses  to  us,  you  will  spare 
his  son." 

Maurice  started.  "  There  is  a  stain,  then,  on 
my  birth  ?  "  he  demanded. 

"  On  mine,"  replied  his  father  with  proud  hu 
mility.  "  I  would  have  kept  this  from  you,  but 
the  occasion  demands  a  sacrifice." 

The  change  of  expression  that  the  news  had 
brought  to  Maurice's  face  died  away,  and  it 
set  itself  again  in  the  rigid  lines  of  determi 
nation. 

"  The  man  must  die,"  he  reiterated  sullenly. 

The  innate  antagonism  between  them ;  the 
many  insults  he  had  received  from  the  count ; 
the  treachery  which  had  taken  Sylvia  from  him, 
and  the  crowning  baseness  of  this  night's  work, 
made  a  combination  of  deadly  strength.  He 
could  not  struggle  against  it.  Monsieur  Regnier 
took  his  son's  hand  in  one  of  his  and  laid  the 
other  on  his  shoulder.  The  two  men  stood 
face  to  face,  their  eyes  meeting  in  a  look  with 
which  each  seemed  to  read  the  other's  soul.  The 
patient  dignity  which  stooped  to  plead,  in  his 
father's  face,  the  clasp  of  the  hand  which  seemed 
to  promise  sympathy  and  help,  quieted  Maurice. 
When  the  words  came  they  found  him  able  to 
listen. 

"  My  boy,  this  night,  not  an  hour  ago,  you 
were  looking  forward  to  death.  Only  you  know 


A    TRANSATLANTIC    CHATELAINE.         459 

what  thoughts  came  to  you  ;  but  if  they  were  of 
the  life  beyond,  if  you  felt  that  this  was  not  all, 
had  you  no  hopes,  no  fears  ?  You  bear  in  your 
heart  a  great  love  for  this  woman  ;  she  is  all  in 
all  to  you ;  can  you  expect  to  meet  her  after  this 
life,  if  you  stain  your  hand  with  blood  ?  You 
might  gain  her  for  a  while,  but  you  would  lose 
her  eternally.  Is  revenge,  and  revenge  on  your 
own  blood,  sweet  enough  to  justify  this  ?  " 

Maurice  buried  his  face  in  his  hands.  Eter 
nity  had  been  close  to  him  this  night :  its  influ 
ence  still  hung  about  him.  In  the  light  of  the 
hereafter  lesser  things  paled.  For  a  moment 
no  one  spoke  ;  then  Sylvia,  feeling  that  he  was 
shaken,  began  to  move  towards  him,  but  Mon 
sieur  Regnier  held  her  back. 

"  I  have  more  to  say,  and  it  is  for  you  both ; 
you  must  hear  me,  my  children,  and  you  must 
trust  in  the  love  behind  the  harshness.  You, 
Sylvia,  I  have  taken  to  my  heart  as  if  you  were 
my  own  daughter  ;  you  are  not  the  only  ones  to 
renounce  ;  and  Maurice  —  my  son  —  my  only 
son "  He  held  out  his  arms  towards  the 
bowed  head,  and  his  eyes  were  full  of  the  light 
of  love ;  his  voice  died  away  for  a  moment. 

When  he  spoke  again  he  seemed  to  tower 
above  his  listeners,  and  his  face  was  like  the 
face  of  an  angel.  He  was  pleading  against  the 
love  of  this  world,  against  all  that  makes  life 


•460         A    TRANSATLANTIC   CHATELAINE. 

beautiful ;  he  was  pleading  for  the  life  to  come, 
and  his  words  rang  true. 

"  Sylvia,  my  child,  you  have  a  heavy  burden 
to  bear ;  only  God  and  you  know  how  heavy ; 
but  He  will  give  you  strength.  Remember  that 
this  life  is  not  all ;  it  is  only  the  stepping-stone 
to  the  life  beyond.  No  one  can  liye  for  himself 
alone.  You  are  a  link  in  a  great  family  chain  ; 
if  you  tear  yourself  away  you  do  infinite  harm, 
not  only  to  yourself,  but  to  your  child  and  his 
house.  You  have  helped  to  give  him  a  birth 
right  ;  you  must  not  steal  it  from  him  for  your 
own  passion.  You,  and  he,  and  Maurice  will 
exist  eternally.  Each  of  you  is  responsible  for 
all.  The  things  of  this  life  pass  away  —  sorrow 
endureth  for  a  night,  but  joy  cometh  with  the 
morning.  Let  us  each  live  so  that  when  that 
morning  dawns  we  can  stand  before  the  sun  of 
righteousness,  proud  of  our  honorable  wounds, 
borne  for  the  sake  of  right.  Pray  for  strength 
to  give  each  other  up.  Beat  down  the  wrong  — 
be  brave  —  rise  to  things  eternal  on  the  wings 
of  self -surrender." 

Sylvia's  higher  nature  stirred ;  the  months 
of  struggle,  of  endeavor  to  conquer  herself,  had 
not  been  in  vain.  She  had  been  weak  for  a 
while  ;  she  had  lost  sight  of  her  standards  under 
the  strain  she  had  undergone ;  but  Monsieur 
Regnier  recalled  her  from  her  short  dream. 


A    TRANSATLANTIC    CHATELAINE.         461 

Even  in  the  sudden  burst  of  passion  she  had 
been  dimly  aware  that  sin  would  not  be  easy  to 
her,  and  had  rebelled  against  the  under-stratum 
of  her  nature  which  almost  compelled  her  to 
take  the  right  path.  Now  she  knew  that  it  was 
the  only  one  possible  to  her,  and  yet  the  idea  of 
giving  up  Maurice  nearly  broke  her  heart.  How 
could  she  tear  herself  from  him,  now  that  she 
had  told  him  of  her  love  ?  As  she  thought  of 

O 

losing  him  out  of  her  life  she  felt  a  reckless 
desire  that  he  would  kill  Philippe  —  anything 
—  everything,  so  that  they  might  be  together. 
Then  she  remembered  her  child,  and  the  wild 
mood  passed  away.  Once  more  she  felt  capa 
ble  of  all  for  the  sake  of  right;  she  would  re 
nounce  ;  she  would  be  brave.  As  she  sent  up 
a  dumb,  speechless  prayer  for  help,  Maurice 
lifted  his  head,  and  looked  at  her.  Then  she 
knew  that  her  prayer  was  already  answered, 
and  that  here  was  her  help,  for  in  his  eyes  she 
read  his  resignation  of  her,  his  victory  over  self. 
They  had  been  hard  tried,  but  they  were  con 
querors.  He  stood  where  he  was,  his  voice 
sounded  muffled,  and  his  words  came  slowly,  as 
if  refusing  to  obey  his  will. 

"  We  must  part ;  there  is  no  other  way.  But 
remember,  Sylvia,  that  in  life  and  in  death  I  am 
yours  and  yours  only  ;  that  you  will  be  to  me  my 
star,  always  guiding  me  to  the  right ;  that  the 


462         A    TRANSATLANTIC    CHATELAINE. 

love  which  might  have  been  our  ruin  shall  be,  by 
God's  help,  our  salvation." 

She  came  to  him,  and  once  more,  for  the  last 
time,  put  her  arms  about  him. 

"  Good-by,  my  Maurice,  my  more  than  love  — 
my  hero." 

His  hand  trembled  as  he  smoothed  the  soft 
hair  away  from  her  brow,  and  for  the  last  time 
looked  deep  into  her  eyes ;  then  he  kissed  her 
once,  and  she  felt  that  the  consecration  of  their 
lives  to  duty  had  begun  as  she  turned  and  left 
him. 

They  parted  then  with  a  steady  resolve  never 
to  meet  again,  and  they  were  true  to  their  vow 
and  each  other.  With  their  eyes  fully  opened 
to  what  they  renounced,  they  deliberately  chose 
the  right ;  and  their  self-imposed  cross,  faith 
fully  borne,  gave  them  the  wider  wisdom,  the 
ampler  sympathy,  which  is  our  inheritance  from 
Christ. 

Little  more  remains  to  be  said :  passions  fade 
out,  or  are  cut  off,  —  and  still  life  goes  on.  As 
long  as  she  lives  Sylvia's  love  story  will  last  in 
her  heart  in  the  completeness  of  its  incomplete 
ness.  She  left  Maurice  to  take  up  her  old  life, 
inspired  by  the  thought  that  he  and  she  had 
suffered  equally,  renounced  equally,  and  that 
their  recompense  would  be  equal.  To  the  coun 
tess  she  grew  dearer  each  year,  and  became  a 


A    TRANSATLANTIC    CHATELAINE.         463 

very  daughter  to  Monsieur  Regnier,  giving  and 
taking  a  daughter's  tender  love.  She  soothed 
the  last  moments  of  old  Justine,  wht)  never  ral 
lied  after  that  terrible  night  when  she  had  given 
her  soul  for  her  mistress.  The  poor  creature 
died  unshriven  by  mortal  priest,  never  having 
confessed  her  sin.  Sylvia,  who  did  not  under 
stand  her  mental  sufferings,  did  all  that  she  could 
to  alleviate  them,  and  had  the  comfort  at  the 
very  last  to  see  a  look  of  trust  and  joy  on  the 
face  of  the  dying  woman  as  if  an  angel  had 
touched  it.  A  long  time  passed  before  Philippe 
came  back  to  his  home,  broken  in  health  and 
spirit,  more  by  his  worthless  life  than  by  the 
hardships  of  war.  His  presence  has  been  Syl 
via's  heaviest  cross,  borne  nobly  for  the  sake  of 
right,  and  because  of  her  boy  from  whose  honest 
brown  eyes  look  out  the  spirits  of  the  men  who 
made  the  name  of  La  Roche  a  term  of  honor, 
and  those  other  sturdy  ancestors  of  his  who 
helped  to  lay  the  foundations  of  a  nation  dear  to 
the  hearts  of  its  children,  stretching  from  ocean 
to  ocean. 

Maurice  sleeps  his  last  sleep  in  the  chapel 
with  the  old  Counts  of  La  Roche.  He  fell  in 
battle,  his  face  to  the  foe,  and  they  laid  him  with 
his  ancestors  whose  nobility  he  had  inherited. 
When  Sylvia  saw  his  sword  placed  on  his  coffin, 
the  sword  he  had  wielded  so  nobly,  she  was  able 


464  A    TRANSATLANTIC    CHATELAINE. 

to  thank  God  that  the  man  she  had  loved  so 
well  had  gone  to  His  presence  glorified  by  the 
light  of  victory  —  victory  over  self.  She  felt 
that  he  was  more  wholly  hers,  because  nothing 
could  tarnish  his  memory.  Eternally  young, 
eternally  brave,  he  is  and  will  be  to  her  death 
her  hero  without  a  blemish.  She  loves  to  sit 
under  the  protecting  sweep  of  the  old  cedar,  ever 
murmuring  its  mystic  music,  —  a  sleep-song  for 
the  dead  soldier  poet  who  had  so  loved  it ;  and 
as  she  touches  its  rugged  bark,  and  looks  through 
its  solemn  branches,  there  are  times  when  the 
thin  veil  between  her  and  the  unseen  world  al 
most  sways  aside. 

Happy  ?  It  is  not  for  me  to  say  no.  Is  there 
place  for  unhappiness  in  the  lives  of  those  who 
are  filling  their  days  with  the  struggle  for  at 
tainment  and  conquest,  when  we  apply  the  words 
in  their  higher  meaning  ? 

And  had  we  the  choice,  would  we  dare,  for  a 
few  years  of  pleasure  in  this  life,  give  up  the 
height,  and  depth,  and  breadth  the  soul  may 
reach,  through  a  noble  sorrow  nobly  met? 

Happy  ?  Let  him  who  wore  the  purple,  and 
touched  the  summit  of  earthly  prosperity,  an 
swer  :  — 

"  If  thou  workest  at  that  which  is  before  thee, 
.  .  .  keeping  thy  divine  part  pure  as  if  thou 
shouldest  be  bound  to  give  it  back  immediately. 


A    TRANSATLANTIC    CHATELAINE.          465 

—  if  thou  boldest  to  this,  expecting  nothing,  fear 
ing  nothing,  but  satisfied  with  thy  present  activ 
ity  according  to  nature,  and  with  heroic  truth  in 
every  word  and  sound  which  thou  utterest,  thou 
wilt  live  happy.  And  there  is  no  man  who  is 
able  to  prevent  this." 


A    000  1 29  963     5 


